Retribution
by justcourbeau
Summary: Fifth and seventh year start off less than stellar for Hermione and the twins respectively, as they butt heads over the twins' product testing. Some scheming and bit of magical interference never hurt anyone, did it?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Dialogue from OoTP to start us off here, not claiming it as my own in any way.**

* * *

"Look at today!" Ron's voice piped up from the Gryffindor table where three of the summer inhabitants of Grimmauld Place were grouped together, and Fred rerouted them towards the trio without even a glance in George's direction. "History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts... Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted..." At that the twins did glance at each other before squishing in, George between Harry and Hermione and Fred on the other side of Ron.

It was the first day of class for everyone and the very _last _first day at Hogwarts for the seventh years. Fred and George had spent most of yesterday on the train with Lee planning out how to make the absolute most of their last year in the castle. First hand data was the most valuable, and they would be milking the student population for the year before launching their store in the hopes that they would make their entrance into the business of jokes with a bang.

"Do mine ears deceive me?" Fred settled with a gleam in his eye and George grinned back at him. "Hogwarts Prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," Ron growled and shoved his schedule under Fred's nearby nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," Fred's eyebrows flew into his hair line as he scanned down the day ahead for the fifth years. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" Ron asked and Hermione's stance straightened beside George. He could see the backbone extend and felt her take a deep breath to berate her fellow Prefect for his lax morals and on the very first day, too. George grinned down at the table and skimmed the options for breakfast.

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," he answered and purposefully interrupted the beginnings of Hermione's tirade, choosing a kipper.

"Cheers," Ron grumbled in response. "But I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, watching the twins carefully as she spoke up, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board."

"Says who?" George flicked his eyes to Fred's knowingly for a brief moment before giving Hermione a look of astonishment. They had just been talking last night about how difficult Miss Granger would make their year of data collection.

"Says me," she asserted. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," Ron replied quickly, eager to distance himself from any effort Hermione might make to deter them from their goal. He received a glare and the twins sniggered at their brother as he proceeded to stuff his face with breakfast as an excuse not to talk any more on the subject.

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, buttering his crumpet lovingly as he did so. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

As if Fred hadn't attracted enough attention from the small Prefect who already had it out for their plans, he gave the girl a cheeky wink before singing his teeth into his breakfast at hand and George grimaced. Why did he have to get her going? George felt her bristle at his side and he sighed.

"And why wold starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" she snipped.

"Fifth year's O.W.L. year," answered George, hoping to diffuse the conversation with talk of classes.

"So?" she bit. No luck then on the diffusing, it seemed.

"You've got your exams coming up, haven't you?" Fred swallowed and took a gulp of sugary tea. "They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," he finished with latent satisfaction. Ron paled and Harry gulped.

"Half of our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s," George nodded and Hermione shifted her hard gaze to him. "Tears and tantrums... Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint..." George nodded at her pointedly and she scowled.

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" Fred reminisced.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pyjamas," George snorted, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

"Oh yeah," Fred grinned. "I'd forgotten... Hard to keep up sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," George commented, hoping that the fact that Hermione had not redirected the conversation back to their Snackboxes and her objections meant that she had been derailed. "If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep out spirits up somehow.

"Yeah... you got, what is it, three O.W.L.s each?" said Ron.

"Yep," Fred replied for them both lightly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of Academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for out seventh year," George added brightly, "now that we've got -"

Harry sent him a sharp look and George mentally smacked himself.

"-Now that we've got out O.W.L.s," George finished smoothly. "I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

Smooth, because it was true.

All three fifth years bought it, though George had the sneaking suspicion Harry knew he was fibbing, regardless of how true it was in essence.

"We're not going to waste out last year here, though. We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand," Fred spouted surely.

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" asked Hermione, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose..."

George cursed her curious logical side inwardly and Harry made a spectacularly fake fumble for his fork in order to get out of Hermione's line of sight, diving for it as it clattered to the floor under the table.

"Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione," Fred answered cryptically. "C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology."

George grabbed some toast and stood, stepping back into the aisle and setting off for the Entrance Hall with Fred.

"She is going to put up a right kicking fight, Freddie," he grinned.

"I'm not bothered," Fred glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

Hermione watched the retreating back of the twins as they left the Hall and made for Herbology. It was the _first_ day, and they had already made a stand against her.

_First day!_

Trying her very hardest to not let the twins dampen her first day of fifth year classes, Hermione finished her breakfast and folded up the Prophet, slipping it into her bag before Harry, Ron and her left for History of Magic. Taking diligent notes, Hermione scowled at Ron and Harry who spent the 45 minutes of Binns' lecture scribbling on a bit of parchment and not paying attention to the very best of their abilities.

How were they ever going to pass their O.W.L.s this year? She wouldn't be helping them, not this time. They had to learn eventually. It was time to put her foot down.

Making their way to Potions was a constant stream of hissing arguments with Ron that only ceased when they entered the dungeon classroom and settled huffily next to each other. Thankfully, the class passed without much disaster and Hermione finished with a perfect potion, silver vapour included. Ron had managed to botch his potion but Harry's potion was vanished by Snape. _Perhaps if he concentrated on his work_... Hermione shook her head.

After Harry stormed off and Hermione and Ron had had a short conversation about trying not to argue, for Harry's sake, Ron left for Divination and she hopped up to the seventh floor for Arithmancy. Pulling out her materials and unstopping her inkwell, Hermione's thoughts roamed back to the problem with the Twins.

Should she tell McGonagall?

Surely the older Head of Gryffindor House knew that they were up to something already... But perhaps not. The Twins had kept their schemes under wraps quite well over the summer. Mrs. Weasley hadn't found much in the way of their products, and that was _with_ the knowledge that they were concocting things and squirrelling others away.

Perhaps she should write Mrs. Weasley... That was always an option, seeing as the Weasleys tended to be more scared of the matriarch bearing the same last name than of any punishment they might face in school.

Arithmancy passed quite without any distractions for Hermione and she relished in the complex theories they had already started brushing on. Professor Vector had always set the class to a challenge and made it perfectly clear what was expected of them and what they should be able to calculate come the end of the year. Hermione was already breaking down her study schedule by the time she made it to her last class of the day and met up with Harry and Ron again. Thankfully the two of them seemed to be in milder moods, the friction of earlier subsiding slightly.

And then Defence happened.

"_How _can Dumbledore have let this happen?" Hermione cried, settling in her favourite chair by the fire in the Common Room after a very tense dinner. This new Professor Umbridge was proving to be more of a pain than she had originally thought. _No_ use of magic in what one might call the most important class they were enrolled in, considering that state of the war raging on silently outside the protective walls of the castle. Hermione felt her fists clench in anger and she buffeted them harshly against the arms of her chair. "How can he let that terrible woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year too!"

The woman was completely infuriating. She had interrupted everyone who had spoken up and the whole class had finally gone silent after she and Harry had come nose to nose, for all intents and purposes. The Ministry was certainly keeping an ear out for any troublemakers who were trying to disturb the relative quiet they had created by denying the return of Voldemort at every turn. This of course was disregarding all the evidence on the contrary; disappearances and odd happenings be damned.

"Well, we've never had great Defence Against the ark Arts teachers, have we?" Harry said and Hermione knew he was right, not counting Professor Lupin who, aside from his werewolf status, had been perfect. The only reason that statement was true was because of the perceived dangerous of werewolves and the stereotypes that followed them; Lupin had not fit any of them but unfortunately the wizarding world did not accept that he was on the same level as the rest of them, and he had regrettably been forced to leave the school. "You know what it's like, Hagrid told us, nobody wants the job, they say it's jinxed."

"Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic! _What's_ Dumbledore playing at?" she huffed, feeling her anger flood into her cheeks and chest hotly.

"And she's trying to get people to spy for her," Ron remarked lowly with a dark look. "Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her is we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who's back?"

"Of course she's here to spy on us all, that's obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?" Hermione snapped and immediately regretted it. She had promised Ron that she would try to be less snippy and she had just failed.

"Don't start arguing again," Harry interjected tiredly and Ron shut his mouth. "Can't we just... Let's do that homework, get it out of the way..."

People were starting arrive back from dinner and as Hermione, Ron and Harry started pulling out their books and parchment, Hermione caught sight of the twins gathering a group of small students around their tall frames.

Oh, this did not bode well. She didn't want to deal with this right now! As soon as she saw the brown bag Fred was holding out to them, she jumped up.

"No, I'm sorry, They've gone too far," she brushed her skirt down and felt her anger well up again, seeping readily into the places it had just receded from over their conversation about Umbridge. "Come on, Ron."

"I - what? No - come on, Hermione - we can't tell them off for giving out sweets..."

"You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or - or Puking Pastilles or -"

"Fainting Fancies?" Harry offered, just as the first years started crumpling to the Common Room floor or hanging over chairs and each other.

Hermione let out a calming breath and stood up taller, marching over to where Fred and George were holding on to clip boards and making observations at the first years, who were out cold at their feet.

"That's enough!" Hermione demanded forcefully, noting rather too late the Ron hadn't followed her over to where his twin brothers were testing their potentially unsafe products on defenceless first years.

George looked up at her first, surprise written all over his features.

"Yeah, you're right, this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?" he nodded and went back to filling something out on his parchment.

"I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!" Hermione seethed, her cheeks flaring.

"We're paying them!" Fred snorted lightly, brushing her forcefulness off smoothly.

"I don't care, it could be dangerous!" Hermione pressed.

"Rubbish," Fred shook his head and George grimaced.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" Lee tried to be reassuring as he popped what Hermione could only assume was the antidote into the open mouths of the tiny first years stupid enough to sign up for this.

"Yeah, look, they're coming round now," George offered.

Hermione watched with the twins and Lee as they started to shift and open their eyes, thankfully seeming to possess all their wits apart from wondering how they had managed to end up on the floor or in someone else's personal space.

"Feel alright?" George asked a small girl lying on the floor who was shaking her head clear.

"I - I think so," she mumbled.

"Excellent," Fred said and with a flourish, began making notes on his board. Boiling, Hermione reached out and snatched the notes and the bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands quickly.

"It is NOT excellent!"

How could they not see how much danger they were putting these students in? _Unnecessary _danger. In a time when they or their families might be taken away at any point, how could these seventh years add to that panic of uncertainty by landing someone's child in the hospital wing, or worse?

"'Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" Fred's voice took on an angry edge and Hermione snapped her attention to him quickly. Suddenly she realised that he was quite a bit taller than her, a quite a bit stronger as well.

"You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?" she tried to persuade them to see it her way, though she doubted very much that that would help.

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same -

"If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to -" Hermione threatened, but Fred interrupted her.

"Put us in detention?"

"Make us write lines?" George piped in, diverting Hermione wrath onto himself. His eyes gleamed in a challenge and Hermione knew that the entire Common Room was watching their exchange intently and that most people would be on the side of the jokesters.

"No," Hermione said after a breath. "But I will write to your mother."

* * *

"That girl is going to be the death if us," Fred cursed as they stomped down the corridor outside the Fat Lady a minute later.

"Not that I don't appreciate her tenacity, but I wish she would just direct her attentions elsewhere until we're through," George nodded.

"We'll just have to be more careful in the future," Lee shrugged, trotting along beside them. "D'you think she could be paid off?"

"Are you mad? The mere suggestion would have one of us to be facing a childless future," George laughed and shook his head.

"Maybe we could persuade Ginny to sway her mind. Or keep her occupied by talking about exams constantly. Keep her mind off us?" Fred suggested as they rounded the corner and let themselves into their favourite unused classroom.

"The fact of the matter is we can't pass up this year for market research; it's too important for the shop. We have to find a way to mellow her out that doesn't involve slipping a Draught of Peace into her morning juice every day," George lamented.

"No slipping her things," Lee gave them a look as they settled and squished their lanky bodies into the desks there, "but maybe a charm? A mild Cheering Charm? Or something to distract her? Like a Notice-Me-Not but somehow tailored for her?"

"That's something," Fred rubbed his chin. "Let's just try to keep out of her line of sight tomorrow and maybe make a trip to the library and see what might be floating around there."

George had the distinct feeling that this year was going to be unpleasant. If Hermione could just mellow out a bit, it would make the whole thing much easier for all of them. They stressed her out, she stressed them out. It was a vicious circle, couldn't she see that?

Boy, could she get going though. Brassed off Hermione was... something. She was something alright. Not something pleasant, but something.

The next morning, the three seventh years managed to wake early enough to sneak to the Great Hall and grab breakfast and leave before the female prefect had made an appearance and they all breathed a sigh of relief as they trekked up to the library still chewing on toast.

"I was thinking," Fred started and George grinned. "Last night, about our bushy-haired problem and I think the best route to go would be to find something to take her anger down a notch or perhaps her intensity... I can deal with ticked-off-Hermione, but enraged-and-threatening-to-out-us-to-Mum-Hermione is another thing altogether."

"Not that we can't handle her, of course," George nodded and Lee agreed with a grunt.

"Just rather not waste the energy and limited time battling it out with her over every little thing," Lee added.

It was a general consensus that the Charms section would be the best to start with, concentrating on mood-altering enchantments and spells and trying to find one that suited the situation the best. They didn't want to affect anything other than her targeted ire, lest she fail an O.W.L. and find out they had interfered with her in any way.

The boys spent every moment they could spare in the library over the next few days trying to find a solution to their problem of over-excitable Hermione Granger. If they solved this puzzle, it would be smooth sailing from here on out. If they could just get her to lie off, things would be much more flexible in the long run.

"We may only get the one shot to get her with something, so it needs to be long lasting, enough to get us through the new year, I'd wager..." George poured over open tomes in a far corner of the quiet library, far from where they had observed Hermione sitting under the light of a lamp into the night.

"Mhm, and it has to be subtle enough that she wouldn't think anything of it, and neither would the people who know her best. The last thing we need if her going to Pomfrey screeching about things being amiss..." Fred commented. "God forbid she only studies six hours instead of seven."

Lee snorted and flipped open another book, resigned to helping the twins since he had just as much at stake.

"Ah!" hissed Fred, pointing out to a page in the old book he was holding. "This is... this might be the one, gents! Listen; The _Delinio Temperantia _charm is purported to be the leading-most charm for long-term use in the area of anger management and is often used by Healers when a patient is resisting traditional forms of therapy in regards to their overall mental health. The charm works gradually, starting quite slow and mild and building over time, allowing the recipient to adjust to their new attitudes with ease, so that by the time the charm starts to fade months later, the patient may be in a better position to keep themselves calm without aid of magical intervention."

* * *

**A/N: As you can see, we started off with scenes from Order of The Phoenix but from here on out you will encounter very few familiar scenes. Some, granted, but it's not going to be made up of interactions you've already read in canon. I am going to try and weave it in with the set timeline in the book though, and any parts therein I feel I need to include. **

**I know this hardly gives you much of an idea of where this is going, but leave me a note anyhow, and include any thoughts you might be having over Fred and George literally charming Hermione. **

**Let me know if you came over from The Injunction!**

**Cheers!**


	2. Chapter 2

"She gave me another bloody earful on my way back from lunch!" Lee threw himself down into a seat close to the twins, who were hunched over their parchments suspiciously.

"Is she coming back this way?" George asked quickly, poised to scoop their research up and hide it before the bushy-haired girl stomped through the portrait hole.

"Nah, they don't have class today and she'll probably go to the library," Fred brushed off, having seen Ron's schedule at the beginning of the week. Their own Friday afternoon was empty as well, leaving them a few hours to work out what they were going to do, and if and when they were going to cast this spell on Hermione.

"Right," George ran a hand through his ginger hair and hunched over again. "I say we cast it after dinner and stay out of her way as much as possible over the weekend, and then maybe by the time next week rolls around, it'll have started to take some effect."

"Are we really doing this?" Lee asked hesitantly.

"Yes," the twins chorused, and George looked up to eye his friend.

"Not only will it hopefully get her off our backs for a few months, but a little retaliation never hurt anyone," Fred breezed. "If anyone deserves it, it's her."

"Completely insufferable," George elaborated.

"Utterly overbearing," Fred threw in.

"Thoroughly oppressive," George nodded in agreement.

"Wholly dictatorial," Fred expanded.

"Entirely imperious," George volleyed.

"Altogether unbearable," Fred finished with a tone of finality. Lee shook his head with a grin.

"Are you sure neither of you fancies her?" he asked lightly, just barely restraining his smile. "You did spend all summer cooped up with them..."

"Absolutely not!" Fred answered and they both stared aghast at their friend. "What would Angelina say?" he pressed as hand to his chest in feigned hurt.

"Out of line, Jordan," George shook his head slowly.

"Alright, don't get yourselves all in a knot," Lee gave them a face-splitting grin in full. "Just checking."

"Right," Fred redirected them. "Tonight then, after dinner. George, you're up."

Given that George had more of a natural talent for Charms, he was going to wait in hiding nearby to where Fred and Lee would stage a run-in with her as she predictably made her way up to the library after supper. She would be alone and she would also have no qualms about questioning the two what they were up to, considering the very public confrontation they had in the common room a few days ago. They had been more discreet about their testing since, but Hermione didn't need to know that.

"Hand me those notes again," George reached for scribblings from the book they found the spell in. "Delinio Temperantia..." he muttered intermittently, trying to commit the spell to memory for use later in the evening.

Friday turned out to be the perfect day for what they had planned. The fifth year Gryffindors had a day full of free periods and then it would be supper, and then the twins found out that Harry would have detention and Ron was going for try-outs for the house Quidditch team. All of that meant that Hermione would essentially be on her own when the boys left, leaving little chance for either of them to question any possible immediate change in her mood or attitude.

* * *

The first week of classes had been a bit of a nightmare. The only classes where normalcy seemed to be attainable for Hermione were Ancient Runes and Arithmancy; she found the fact that Ron and Harry didn't take those classes with her to be proportionately related to the amount of concentration and effort she was able to put into the subject at hand.

Harry's detentions with Umbridge carried on through the week, turning his mood sour after dinner right through until he disappeared up the boy's staircase at night. Hermione got the distinct impression there was more going on than he had mentioned, though it wasn't hard to see that that horrid woman got under his skin in about a heartbeat. When Harry had found out that he would be missing Quidditch try-outs, things took a turn for the worse.

"Harry, you mustn't let her get to you," Hermione paused, looking up from the parchment she was drafting an essay on. "She'll only just keep doing it because she knows she can."

"I know, Hermione," Harry answered exasperatedly. He had been trying to work on homework in the library with her for the better part of an hour, but Hermione had barely seen him scribble out a full sentence.

"I wish you'd just stop rising to her bait," Hermione mumbled, feeling rather flustered at their topic of discussion. Delores Umbridge was a horrid woman who... Well, that was something to consider. How were they ever going to get through practical exams without any actual practise? Perhaps a study group would help...

"Well, I wish you and Ron would stop bickering about every little thing but -" Harry snapped.

"Harry, that's not -" Hermione tipped her head back and closed her eyes, praying for patience. For both of them.

"I know, Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm just -" Harry shook his head and looked at her with a sigh.

"Just one more day," Hermione reached out to pat his hand from across the table. Harry gave her a small smile that seemed to be half-grimace and she supposed that was better than nothing. "Just don't go mouthing off in class again, as hard as it is not to."

Hermione observed him from through her eyelashes as she went about settling into her homework again. Harry seemed relatively more relaxed now, and she that she was thankful. He'd been rather on edge since the summer with his near-expulsion and he hadn't come back from that just yet.

Eventually they settled into a quiet work pattern of Hermione finding the relevant information in some books, using it and writing her draft, and then handing the books off to Harry as he struggled along behind her.

Ron was missing, but Hermione didn't question it. It meant that she wasn't at risk to irritate Harry by bickering with him. Before she even knew it the bell rang for the end of evening classes which meant dinner was waiting downstairs in the Great Hall.

"Jeez, are you keeping a Ukrainian Ironbelly in there?" Harry laughed as they packed up and Hermione's stomach gave a particularly loud grumbling roar.

"Oh ha ha," Hermione stuck her nose in the air, which only made Harry laugh harder and she cracked a grin. "I'm starved. Let's go before Ron eats it all."

The two of them made their way from the library tittering between them.

* * *

"Right, she's finished her dinner, let's go before she gets ahead of us," Fred commented, returning his glance to George and Lee at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. The three made a hasty exit, travelling up the corridor near the library that Hermione usually used.

"I'll be right here," George motioned to an alcove that was ideally placed for him. "Make sure _you_ face me so that her back is my way."

"Right-o," Lee saluted and the two of them made their way down the hall. Fred pulled a paper bag our of his cloak and Lee produced a clipboard. The idea was to make it look like they were on their way to testing some of the Weasley's sweets when she saw them and undoubtedly would pause to scold them. Hopefully she would assume that George was off rounding up some innocent first years. Considering she thought they were monsters for _paying_ fellow students to test merchandise before going school-wide with it, he didn't think that would be a difficult jump for her.

Before a minute was up there were footsteps from the way they had come and George watched as Fred and Lee struck up a conversation and started walking down the hall. The new Gryffindor prefect came around the corner as predicted and spotted the pair straight away. Hermione blazed right past George's hiding place and made a beeline for the deliberately suspicious looking pair.

"You had better not be about to test those on students!" she stated loudly, bringing the boys to a halt at the sound of her voice.

"And what if we are?" Lee turned with a smirk, goading her.

"Must we do this _every_ time?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

"No, but I get the feeling _you_ must, since you can't seem to leave it well enough alone," he countered and George chuckled to himself.

Right, Fred and Lee had her attention. It was time to get this plan in motion. Taking aim, George shut out their building argument and exhaled quietly.

"_Delinio Tentigo_," he whispered, flicking his wand precisely.

The spell itself was hardly noticeable, which was a bonus as it didn't attract attention by nature. It looked more like a disturbance, a sort of warping of light around a lightning bolt shape of magic, clear and tinged slightly pink. So slight that he'd never see if it he hadn't been looking right at it.

It hit Hermione square in the back but she didn't seem to take any notice and George held his breath for minute, watching to see if she broke habit because of any weird sensations or the like. Luckily she didn't; As he watched, Hermione made a grab for the paper bag in Fred's hand, missed, and the argument escalated to the point of Hermione actually stomping her foot a little which George found hilarious. He knew they'd all be glad to have that temper in check, at least for a little while. It took far too much energy to have at it with her on an almost daily basis. They were never going to see eye-to-eye with her need to follow rules and behave clashing so horribly with their desire to spread laughter and trouble wherever they could. It was a basic truth of the world.

"And I suppose George is off corralling some more innocent first years and luring them into an empty classroom somewhere so that you can dose them, is that it?" Hermione was harping on.

George popped out from his hiding spot and approached the trio.

"Is _that_ what you think of me, Granger?" he spoke up and she jumped, swinging around to glare at him.

"_Yes_, that is what I think of you," she spat. Boy, did they do a good job of getting her riled.

"Ouch, that hurts," George grinned despite the tone in her voice. "Anyway, excuse us Granger, we've got work to do." He mimed tipping a hat to her which Fred and Lee mimicked before the three of them started off down the hall the way they had come.

"You can't -" Hermione stuttered. "You can't just walk away!"

"We are!" Lee laughed and the three of them beat a hasty retreat, disappearing quickly around the corner.

"How did it go?" Fred immediately questioned.

"As if you need to ask. Looked fine, got her square between the shoulder blades."

"Now we wait," Lee sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "Takes it out of you, that one."

"Don't usually hear you saying that about a bird, Jordan," Fred laughed and got an elbow to the ribs.

"Come on, we _have _actually got some willing participants to meet," George chuckled and they made off for the common room hurriedly.

The Nosebleed Nougat turned out to work a lot better than before and they wrapped up with the first years right about the time that the people who had tried out for the Quidditch team stumbled back through the portrait hole all sweaty and tired.

"I did it!" Ron called, stepping into the common room and promptly tripping over his own two feet. The twins laughed as he scrambled up and made his way over. "I made Keeper!"

"Good job, little bro!" Fred slapped him hard on the back and Ron grimaced, rolling his shoulder a few times. "But you should probably have a shower. You stink." He offered Ron a grin.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Harry back yet?"

"Haven't seen him since dinner," George shook his head. "We'll procure some butterbeer and snacks!" he called after Ron as he disappeared up the stairs to the dormitories. A quick trip to the kitchens had them carting platters of sandwiches and tarts and carrying jugs of butterbeer back up to the tower. By the time they made it back to the common room, Hermione had reappeared but luckily didn't seem to notice their entrance. Either that or she didn't care.

"We should keep an eye on her," Fred mumbled to George as they set down the platters. Both of them were casting glances over to her as she sat by the fire and scribbled away between talking to Ron and Ginny. She looked fairly normal, tie still cinched properly at her neck and skirt still immaculate, however she had removed her school sweater at some point, hot next to the fire. Her hair had been down earlier in the evening when she had breezed past him as he hid from sight, curls bouncing forcefully. Now it was tied back in a braid that looked like it was trying desperately to break free and George laughed to himself; even her hair was hard to tame.

People swarmed the snacks and drinks and before long there was a rousing chorus of 'He's a Jolly Good Wizard' in Ron's honour. The three conspirers kept wary eyes on Hermione but she didn't seem to pick up on the recent nosebleeds and thankfully dropped off in her chair by the fire. Breathing a sigh of temporary relief, they joined in the festivities as Harry stumbled through the portrait hole.

"Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm keeper!" Ron called, bounding over to his dark-haired friend. George surveyed the fifth year and thought he looked rather drawn for some reason, though detention with Umbridge was a good explanation for that.

"What? Oh - brilliant!" he responded, casting a glance around at the party atmosphere.

"Have a butterbeer," Ron pressed a bottle into his hand. "I can't believe it - where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred, taking a swig of butterbeer and using the bottle neck to gesture to her slumped form.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her," Ron justified.

"Let her sleep," George insisted hastily. If she was asleep, that meant she wasn't at risk of yelling at them for at least a few minutes.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," Katie Bell tugged the younger ginger away. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead..."

Convinced they had dodged the bullet for the night, they put on a juggling show for the common room, cheers and applause ringing around them.

* * *

Saturday finally came around and Hermione lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She had actually allowed herself a late start on the first weekend of term. She'd been staying up knitting hats for the house-elves every night that week and it was seriously cutting into her rest time, on top of extra studying for O.W.L year.

As predicted, Harry and Ron skived off doing homework for going out and flying before practice that afternoon.

"You know, if you don't apply yourselves from the beginning of the year, you'll be under a lot of stress come June! It's not worth it! Just a bit of preparation now will save you down the road!" Hermione egged them at the breakfast table. She had finished with the Prophet finally, finding nothing of consequence after their talk of Sturgis Podmore curiously being arrested.

"Hermione," Ron started, his tine indicating he was sure he was about to mollify her.

"No, I don't want to hear it, Ron," she held up her hand. "I won't be helping either of you come revision time. Just bear that in mind as you go and spend the day on the Quidditch Pitch."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Ron started and Hermione saw him jump and assumed Harry had kicked him under the table.

"I guess you'll see when the time comes. _I'm_ going to the library," she stressed, rising from the table and stepping back into the aisle between the tables. "You know where to find me when you get some sense."

* * *

**A/N:**** Bit short but I wanted to squeeze an update in. **

**Any ideas on what might happen? **

**Leave me a review!**

**Cheers**


	3. Chapter 3

The boys did spend the whole day in the air in the end, first with just the two of them and then with the complete Gryffindor team in the afternoon. As Hermione sat scribbling away at her parchment and flipping through worn library books, she wished with sincerity that the two of them would limp painfully back into the common room later for her to see.

Of course, that was a cruel thought, but she would hope that they would smarten up this year. It was hardly the time to be skiving off work. A growing war that the magical community was remaining steadfastly ignorant of and the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts were just a few of the problems floating around in her head. If anything, those first few warning signs of what she was sure was coming should galvanize them into working harder, not the opposite.

Sighing, Hermione set down her quill and sat back in her chair in the library. She had finished her Astronomy essay yesterday but upon a second look, had decided to rewrite it. _Now_ it was done. Harry and Ron had likely not even started it at all, and Hermione shook her head at the thought.

Hermione packed up her things and set out for Gryffindor Tower, happy that she would have only a bit of work left to do tomorrow for Transfiguration and Arithmancy before the end of the weekend. The corridors were relatively quiet, people either out in the courtyards enjoying the very last of summer's mild evenings or already having retired to their common rooms with friends.

It was a Saturday evening and the Tower was buzzing with activity, the students happy to have a break from the first week of classes. Hermione ended up settling in her favourite chair by the fire and rewarding herself and her day of hard work in an even harder library chair with reading a muggle fiction novel that she had read countless times since it had come out in the summer. The protagonist was a girl who lived in Oxford in a world much like her own but slightly different, and Hermione relished in the magic of it, because it was not the same kind of magic that her own world possessed. She was just getting to the part where Lyra and Pan were running through the streets of London away from the evil Mrs. Coulter when the portrait hole opened and Harry and Ron stumbled in looking worse for wear. Hermione resisted the urge to rush to their aid and offer any comfort she could.

"How was practice?" Hermione asked them stoically as they fell into seats next to her. In the end, Hermione regretted even asking; Ron snapped at her and assumed she had assumed that she was insulting him and proceeded to stomp up to the boys' dorms angrily.

* * *

Sunday was a quiet day for most, and Fred and George had successfully tested some more products in an empty classroom round the corner from the common room as Lee kept watch to make sure Granger didn't leave the Tower. She didn't, but she did seem a little distracted. Hermione never had any problems focusing, even in a large room filled with fifty or more other Gryffindors who were doing anything but sitting and being quiet.

"She just keeps huffing and sitting back in her chair. Looks pretty frustrated," Lee helped them clean up after their testing.

"She _always_ looks frustrated," Fred rolled his eyes.

"Well, more than normal. I timed her," Lee pressed. "She couldn't keep herself reading that massive transfiguration book she's had in her bag for more than five minutes at a time. The actual record was four minutes and thirty-eight seconds."

"Huh," George shrugged. "Well, I don't think it was the spell. It's not supposed to effect anything but her anger so I doubt it has anything to do with us."

"Who knows what goes on her brain, really?" Fred nodded in agreement with George. "I bet she's upset over something stupid like a 9.5/10 mark in Arithmancy."

They spent the rest of the night organizing the data they had collected that weekend, hoping that by the time they returned to the common room that Hermione would have gone up to bed. They were in luck; only the boys of the trio were still downstairs, and by the sounds of it, a lot had happened while they were gone.

"Well, Percy wrote me to tell me how much he disapproves of Harry and he tried to warn me off him, the prat," Ron explained as the three seventh years joined them in front of the fire.

Fred glanced over at George and a look flickered between them.

"Ah, well, what does Percy know?" George voiced, trying to lighten the mood. Harry looked rather downtrodden and George grimaced. "Percy has such a giant tree lodged up his arse, I'm not sure he knows up from down. Don't take it too personally, mate."

Harry looked up and gave him a conciliatory grimace that he supposed was intended to be a smile and George sighed.

The following week was no better for all concerned, for Delores Umbridge was appointed High Inquisitor and proceeded to sit in and 'inspect' classes. Of course, as luck would have it, Monday morning brought Charms class for the seventh years and Umbridge was there waiting for class begin as they filed in.

Lee, Fred and George shared a look.

The first week of classes with her had been bad enough. Who in their right mind thought that a theoretical knowledge of the coursework would suffice long-term and into the real world? Deluded people, apparently. They had N.E.W.T.s this year, and thought the twins were hardly concerned about grades and marks and the like, the fact that their entire school of young magical folk wasn't being properly prepared for the coming war was troubling.

Luckily Umbridge kept to herself for the most part, only stopping her incessant notes to ask Alicia, one of their fellow Quidditch team members, some questions about lessons. Flitwick, to his credit, changed nothing about they way he operated and the class went as to be expected. He was just as cheery as always.

After class was lunch, and they headed down to the Great Hall thankfully, catching up to the fifth years in the middle of their conversation.

"Obviously, I'd have been _thrilled_ if I'd gotten and O -"

"Hermione," Ron interjected, "if you want to know what grades we got, ask." He ladled soup into his bowl to the point of almost overflowing and the older boys drew nearer.

"I don't - I didn't mean - well, if you want to tell me -" the girl was flustered, caught out and George sent a silent congratulations to his younger brother. Hermione Granger not being able to find her words was a rare incident.

"I got a P," Ron remarked monotonously. "Happy?"

"Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of," Fred slid onto the bench beside Harry. "Nothing wrong with a good healthy P."

"But," Hermione screwed up her nose in confusion, "doesn't P stand for..."

"'Poor', yeah," Lee finished for her and sat down beside her. "Still, better than a D, isn't it? 'Dreadful'?"

Harry began hacking up a lung after inhaling a roll instead of chewing and Fred thumped him on the back repeatedly.

"So why's a P still good, then?" Hermione seemed to be at a loss, gazing at Lee and waiting for him to answer.

"Well, it's not, but compared to a D, it is. It's all relative," George piped up and she looked up at him on her other side, giving a small nod of understanding. Her brow remained furrowed.

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding'," she listed, counting on her fingers, "and then there's A -"

""No, E," George shook his head and pulled a platter of sandwiches closer, offering her one. "E for 'Exceeds Expectations'. And I've always though Fred and I should've got an E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams." She shook her head at his offering and reached for the stew on her other side, Lee handing it to her so that she could scoop from the dish easily.

"So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable', and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?" Hermione ploughed on through the laughter at George's joke, the crease between her brows deepening.

"Yep," Fred answered before popping a whole roll into his gob hungrily.

"Then you get P for 'Poor'" - Ron raised his arms triumphantly - " and D for 'Dreadful'."

"And then T," George remarked solemnly.

"T?" Hermione gave him a look of shock and he laughed. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

"'Troll'," George answered quickly, giving her the tiniest of lip twitches and she grinned, shaking her head.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred enquired, wiping up the last of his soup with another bit of roll.

"No," Hermione snapped her attention to him. "Have you?"

"Just now, before lunch. Charms," George nodded.

"What was it like?" Harry and Hermione both asked in unison and laughed at each other.

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it," Fred finished.

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," said George. "He usually gets everyone though their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked Harry.

"Trelawney -"

" A T if I ever saw one -"

"- and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today," remarked George and he felt rather than saw Hermione shoot Harry a pointed look, and assumed she had urged him to keep his mouth shut as well. "Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

* * *

That was all for naught, because Tuesday morning brought to light the fact that Harry had earned another week of detentions anyway. The twins watched from down the table this time as Hermione seemed rather above the consoling words Ron was offering his friend. McGonagall had just taken points from Gryffindor and, on top of having detention with his least favourite teacher, Angelina was also mad at him and Harry now had her to contend with as well. That evening they returned to the common room to find Ron and Hermione by the fire discussing Umbridge.

"I know she's horrid but we can't_ poison_ her, Ron," Hermione was clearly repressing the urge to grin at her friend.

"Poison?" Fred asked, slumping into one of the chairs beside them.

"We talking about Umbridge?" George continued, settling on the sofa nearest the fire. "Because if so, we could definitely come up with something."

"Urgh," Ron shook his head. "She's bloody terrible."

"Well, there's no use harping on about it. You still have to do the homework she assigned or risk being put in detention," Hermione grimaced.

"I know," Ron whined painfully and Fred raised his shoe to shove his leg and make him shut up.

"Much as it pains me to say, just do it, little brother. If you can't make practice either, Ange is gonna blow something up. Something _important_," George shot a pointed look at Ron's lap and the fifth year flushed.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione lowered her attention back to her book.

"If you don't believe me, you're gravely mistaken," George kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes before the fire.

"Speaking of Ange..." Fred's eyes were locked on something behind the sofa and he hopped up a moment later. "See you later, Gred."

"Good luck, Forge," George gave his twin a lazy salute and tipped his head back to rest on the edge of the sofa. He felt his libs sink into the cushions and sighed happily.

"I'm still sore from the last practice," Ron continued to whine after Fred disappeared with Angelina.

"Stop moaning about it," Hermione sighed. "You wanted to be on the team."

"I know, but does Angelina have to such a -"

"Yes," George interrupted him. "She does. And while she's doing an excellent job of using the tactics she picked up from Oliver, she's still the team captain and you better not let Fred catch you saying anything about it. Besides, you _need_ the practice."

"Oi!" Ron snapped.

"Oh, go have a bath or something," Hermione growled and George felt his lips quirk up as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

"Yeah, shut up Ron," George antagonized.

"I didn't say shut up," Hermione corrected, looking over at him on the other side of the couch from her perch.

"Ah, but you meant it," George responded. "Can't fool me, Granger."

"Shut up," she fired at him.

"Ouch," he jumped and pressed a hand to his side. "That hurt."

"_Both_ of you, shut up," Ron grumbled. "I'm going to the Prefect's Bath," he continued, leaving the two of them in silence as he fetched his pyjamas from the dorm and disappeared out the portrait hole.

Hermione had her nose buried back in her book, a sight he had seen many many times before. Her hair was escaping her ponytail after a long day, curly strands of it falling across his view of the side of her face. George realized after a few moments that she was blinking rather a lot and he frowned.

"Are you alright?" his voice took on a quietly sincere tone and she looked up curiously.

"Perfectly fine," she cocked her head and yawned.

"Oh, you're tired," he bobbed his head in understanding.

"Oh, yes. I haven't been - well I haven't been sleeping well since... Well, since last June really, with Cedric and then Harry and the Headquarters..."

"Ah," George acknowledged.

"And then for some reason, this weekend wasn't all that relaxing..."

George schooled his features still and gave her a vague grunt in response.

Maybe they had done something to her they hadn't intended? No. There was nothing in the text about it. And it was thorough, and had reputable sources. They were stupid enough to pick a spell to help wrangle in Hermione's temper without checking it out. Surely it was a coincidence. It had been less than a week, it could hardly be considered a sign. Right? Right.

George sighed. He had a Potions essay to complete. And a Charm to practice. And Fred was off with his hand up Angelina's shirt. And Lee was... He didn't know where Lee had disappeared to. Casting a glance over his shoulder for any other seventh years to sit with, all he found was Katie Bell who seemed to be fast asleep with her head on one of the spindly tables by the dorms.

* * *

The morning of Hermione's birthday dawned bright and clear and she grinned from bed with her blankets tight around her. Birthdays were always quite exciting, even though she knew logically nothing was overly special or extraordinary about them. Once a year _everyone_ got a year older.

It just so happened that her birthday fell on a Thursday this year, and Thursdays were free days for the fifth year Gryffindors. It was still early, early enough for the dawn light to still be seeping into the sky gradually, like a watercolour painting. Savouring the happy feeling in her chest, Hermione spent a few minutes watching the birds in the distant forest before sitting up and pushing her hangings fully open. There were a few gifts at the end of her bed and Hermione felt her grin split her cheeks as she pulled them towards herself and poked through them to find the one from her parents. Once she found the small box wrapped in silver paper, she set it aside to unwrap last.

Harry and Ron had stocked her up on her favourite sweets from Honeydukes, really quite an alarming amount of sugar in total. She grinned despite the voice in the back of her head that sounded an awful lot like her mother, reasoning with her to share or give it away, that that much candy would rot her teeth. It was her birthday! Ginny's gift was far more thoughtful and Hermione admired the embroidered bundle, untying the strings that kept it rolled up. Upon further inspection it opened to reveal slots for knitting needles, and separate pouches for stitch markers, darning needles, and snippers. Ginny had witnessed her dropping her needles clumsily one her way up to the dorms on more than one occasion, causing her to drop stitches or ruin her elf hat completely. A box of Hagrid's rock cakes was unwrapped next and Hermione smiled at his effort. He had never once forgotten her birthday since she had helped him try to overthrow Buckbeak's trial ruling. Molly and Arthur had sent along some much more edible treats, homemade, the ones Molly knew Hermione reached for when she was visiting. Her parents' gift was a beautiful pair of small-stoned blue earrings set in silver that she adored upon first glimpse. Elizabeth Granger had a knack for finding things that particular shade of blue she knew Hermione loved so much.

Even on a day where she wasn't required to get up in time for lessons, Hermione rose earlier than Parvati and Lavender, showering and dressing as usual. She piled her damp hair up in a bun while it was still relatively tame and secured her new earrings in the lobes of her ears before descending for breakfast and to write her parents a thank you note, as well and Hagrid and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

The Great Hall was fairly empty with early risers quietly eating or finishing up an assignment at intervals along the tables. Hermione found herself a seat at the Gryffindor table and pulled a covered dish of porridge over to herself. After adding a pinch or two of brown sugar to her bowl as well, she licked the excess off her thumb and continued to eat quietly until two bodies were suddenly sandwiching her.

"Morning, Granger," Fred gave her a solemn nod before fixing his own breakfast.

"Must you sit so close?" Hermione shifted, crossing her legs to give herself more room between them.

"Yes," George answered simply, sitting mere inches away from her side.

"Why? You've got a whole table to choose from," Hermione grumbled.

"Ah, well, we wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and how can we do that from all the way down the other end? Unless you'd rather I wander down there and shout it at you," Fred laughed, shovelling eggs into his mouth.

"No, thank you," Hermione wrinkled her nose at his eating habits.

"Well then," George attracted her attention on her other side again, "best you just endure us then, Granger."

"Happy birthday!" They chorused, and Fred reached down into his bag and produced a small box wrapped in brown paper.

"You got me a gift?" Hermione eyebrows shot up dramatically.

"It _is_ your birthday, yes?" Fred teased her.

"Yes," Hermione answered warily.

"Then just open it," George pushed the box into her hands, the brush of his fingers shocking her and making her jump.

"Ouch! You shocked me," Hermione frowned.

"Likewise," George laughed and rubbed one hand with the other.

"Will it... do anything to me?" She still eyed it warily, wondering just what the twins would give her, regardless of it being her birthday.

"Oh, Granger," Fred shook his head. "We know better by now."

"_Do you_?" she asked with a tone of disbelief.

"We do?" George leaned back and asked Fred.

"We do." Fred nodded first to George and then to Hermione.

"Right, if I open this and anything happens..." Hermione threatened.

"Then you have our full permission to put us up for a week of detention," Fred confirmed and Hermione snorted, flicking the edge of the wrapping up with a fingernail. They both watched her and chewed breakfast quietly at her sides as she pulled the wrapping off and opened it. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach, her mind conjuring images of all the wild things they might have packed into the small box in her hands. A short glance inside showed her a few small sweets that she recognized instantly as a few of their Skiving Snackbox candies.

"Oh, you two!" she scolded, setting down the package quickly as if holding it for too long might get her in trouble.

"You like?" Fred asked smoothly, giving her a conspiratory wink.

"No!" she answered. "I'll never use them and you know it!"

"Ah, you say that now Granger. Just wait until April," George bumped his shoulder against hers and she bristled.

"You'll be begging for an afternoon off," Fred agreed.

"I will not," Hermione argued insistently. She pushed her plate away from her and rose from the table. Bumping shoulders, Hermione felt a frisson run down her arm and picked up her bag.

"Oi, what sort of thank you is that?" Fred called after her as she trotted away, leaving the box on the table between them.

"You're hurting our feelings!" George's voice joined in.

"Oh, for goodness sake," she whipped back and snatched it off the long gleaming table with a glare and the twins grinned at her.

"You're welcome!" one of them called after her again and stomped out of the Great Hall.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the long-ish wait! I'll try to get the next one up in less than a week.  
**

**Leave a review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The box she had received from the twins for her birthday sat in the top drawer of her bedside table, and every time she opened it for something she was reminded of their interaction in the Great Hall.

Prats, the both of them. As _if_ she'd ever be caught dead using their products. She doubted she would ever have need of them but couldn't bring herself to throw the gift away, try as she might. Fred's eyes had been goading, trying to get her to rise to his hedging and George had been the other half of him.

Her brain went fuzzy and Hermione let her head fall back into her pillow as she shut the drawer, book in hand. It was another Saturday morning and a little reading in bed was just what the doctor had ordered. This day marked the end of the third week of school, and one whole week of Harry not having any detentions with Umbridge. That foul woman had him and anyone else that was in detention with her carving into the backs of their own hands and Hermione tried to keep tabs on who got to serve with her but people didn't seem to be talking about the heinous punishment so far. One little first year had been in pieces after spending the evening in detention with her and Hermione had consoled her and given her diluted essence of murtlap just as she had done for Harry, hoping that in some way she was showing Umbridge up for her horrible actions.

Regardless, Hermione could not let anyone suffer the wrath of Delores Umbridge knowingly and so asked the little first year to pass the information on to anyone she saw who might also be in need of a little relief. In a perfect world, people would be able to keep themselves in check around her but something about the nasty woman just provoked, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff alike. As far as Hermione knew, no Slytherins had had the privilege of writing lines for her, likely because they all knew to keep their mouths shut even if the _did_ disagree with her.

Finding it hard to concentrate on the story, Hermione set her book back down on her side table and considered her options. Maybe she would feel better after a large cup of tea and some breakfast. Her head still felt a bit funny, but it wasn't a headache.

The haze of a hot shower didn't seem to help and Hermione dressed in her weekend clothing before pulling her hair into a large braid and descending into the common room. It was empty, as it normally was on a Saturday morning. Everyone was either at breakfast or still in bed, soaking up the weekend lie-in vibes. Paperback clutched in one hand, Hermione made her way down through the Grand Staircase and around into the Great Hall in no rush and sidled up to Ginny and the twins.

"Morning," she announced herself and slid in across from the redheaded girl. Ginny was not a morning person in the least and gave Hermione a small smile before going back to her breakfast and coffee. Fred and George, however, were in good spirits and seemed to have a lot to do today, if their lists and notes scattered on the surface of the long table were any indication.

"Good morning," Fred replied brightly from Ginny's side.

"How are you this fine forenoon?" George asked and slid the brown sauce closer to her as she scooped some fried tomatoes and sausages onto her plate.

"Well, and yourselves?" Hermione nodded her thanks and caught sight of a messy bandage around George's left hand. She paused in her scooping of scrambled eggs and gave him a look.

"What?"

"Wasn't it you who was telling Harry off for getting detention and miffing Angelina off?" Hermione questioned, going back to her breakfast.

"Perhaps, but I hardly see how it's your business," George replied, haughty.

"Well, it's my business because I have a solution to make it feel better and help it heal," Hermione threw back and George dropped his facade.

"Want to let us in on the secret, perchance? It stings like a mother-" Fred started, interrupting.

"Please don't finish that sentence," Hermione closed her eyes. "It's far too early in the morning for such vulgarity."

"Let's leave it a that then, shall we?" George turned more towards her, pleading with his eyes before picking up the hand of hers that was closest to him and holding it sincerely. "Please just tell us the secret."

"Alright," Hermione laughed, realizing that she was feeling better than she had when she left the dorms just a few minutes ago. "Fred, pour me a cup of tea and I'll tell you."

The twin on the other side of the table fetched her a teacup and filled it nearly to the brim, passing it to George's free hand so that he could place it next to Hermione's plate.

"May I have my hand back now?" Hermione asked lightly, her fingers tingling oddly. George was holding it loosely but it felt like pins and needles almost. He released her with a strange look but sat attentive as she dropped a sugar cube into her tea and stirred it slowly, the spoon tinking against the edges in the silence.

"Will you tell us now?" Fred pleaded, showing her a similar bandage and she sighed.

"Diluted essence of murtlap in a one to seven ratio," she answered quietly. "And make sure to pass that on to anyone else who gets detention with that toad."

"Brilliant, Hermione," George said under his breath.

"I'm going to go get some from the store room," Fred announced, standing up. "And then possibly find Angelina."

"I'm going to finish my breakfast," George responded.

"You do that," Fred laughed and took off for the Entrance Hall.

Hermione looked over at Ginny, who had set her forehead down on the table in the middle of her conversation with the twins, and cocked her head.

"Is she asleep?" Hermione asked quietly and George craned his neck over to get a look at his sister's face.

"I think so. She's drooling a bit," he laughed.

Hermione scratched at her fingers and proceeded to eat her breakfast quietly, scooping one-handedly and propping her other elbow up and holding her book open to read as she chewed. After reading the same line through four times, Hermione lowered the novel and glanced over to George.

"Out with it," he said without looking up from the paper he was skimming quietly.

"Pardon?" Hermione jumped a little at his instant tone.

"I can practically hear the gears in your head turning. What's on your mind?" George folded the paper up and set it aside for another student to read at their leisure.

"Well," Hermione started, not sure if she was ready to share with one of Hogwarts' pranksters. "I was just thinking about Umbridge, and how terribly the Ministry's preparing us for what's surely coming our way..."

"And?" George had turned to face her, eyebrows rising.

"What do you think of forming a group that helped each other practice magic? Like a Defence group?" Hermione asked timidly, not entirely sure why the idea she had been silently spearheading with Harry was suddenly something to be tentative about, considering how much she believed he could help their fellow students.

"That's..." George's eyes unfocused a bit before he cracked a grin. "That's brilliant, Hermione!" he lowered his voice and she grinned.

"I asked Harry if he would lead it, you know, since he's actually gone up against some of the most ill-intending wizards you could find," Hermione reasoned and George nodded. "What do you think? I asked him nearly a fortnight ago and he didn't seem too taken with the idea."

"Well," George paused. "If you concentrate on getting Harry on-board, because I think that's a bloody brilliant idea, Fred and I can help spread the word to some students who we're sure we can trust, plant a seed, you know-"

"What are you two hissing about?" Ginny's voice spoke up from across the table as the redhead raised her forehead and glared at them tiredly. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"Perhaps you should go back to bed then," Hermione gave a small laugh and Ginny groaned, her head thumping back down.

* * *

"Hey," a winded Hermione fell into step with the twins and Lee Jordan by the following Wednesday. "Ron and I managed to convince him."

"Excellent!" Fred nodded with a grin. "Hogsmeade weekend then, yeah?"

"I think our best bet is the Hog's Head," Hermione said, looking between them. She tried her best not to let her gaze linger too long on George's face as he observed her pink cheeks, flushed from her hurrying down the corridor after them through the crowd of people. Since he had handed her the birthday gift, she had caught her mind wandering back to the moment he had shocked her with his casual touch. To make matters more strange, he and Fred had taken to sitting with them more, and considering they had their own friends in their own year and had never made any extra effort to spend time with their younger siblings aside from the odd occasion, she felt a like odd. Just like something was off. Not weird or wrong, but just... askew.

"We'll spread the word, Granger," Lee gave her a small salute before she broke off from the seventh year trio and headed down the last staircase between Arithmancy and Transfiguration with the boys, who'd just come from Divination.

* * *

"She's keeps giving you weird looks, mate," Lee nodded in agreement with Fred.

"What's she got to be suspicious about? She still scolds us for our products whenever she gets the chance. I'm not even certain that spell worked to be honest," George sighed, brushing off their words.

"Well, she certainly doesn't seem to be mellowing out any," Fred voiced as they continued down the corridor to the Charms classroom. "When she gets mad, she gets ticked, she gets even more vicious, if that's even possible."

"Mmm," George mused, thinking back to the last time she had caught them finishing up a product testing and had very nearly sparked with rage.

"Maybe we should avoid her until the meeting. Considering her mood the other day, best not let her figure out we're hanging around to see if the spell we cast on her is actually working. Could you imagine?" Lee laughed.

"She'd tear us limb from limb," Fred joked, but George was sure he should be a bit more serious about that accusation.

The three spent the following week and half avoiding Hermione Granger at all costs and conducting their trials farther away from the Tower than they had been making a habit of previously. All seemed to be going well aside from a growing feeling of George's that something must have gone wrong with the spell.

* * *

Hermione had taken Harry's acquiescence and vowed not to harp on about her plans lest he loose his temper with her and decide not to go along with it. She hoped desperately that he would not react horribly to the knowledge of perhaps more people attending their meeting than he had anticipated. She was positive that they would have a good size group of people interested in their idea. It was with this caution in mind that Hermione answered any questions from students that Fred, George, Lee and now Ginny were sending her way on the sly and by the first Saturday in October, she had a rough count of about 35 students.

Distraction was the name of the game for Hermione as she dressed early in the morning and set about getting herself ready for their trip into town. Not only did she want to have a look for a book at Tomes and Scrolls, but the boys had been obsessing over having a look at Zonko's despite her disapproval of the nature of their visit. The meeting she had organized between them and thirty-odd students was weighing on her mind heavily as she traipsed down to the Great Hall with her attention mainly focused on what they were going to say once they finally gathered. Harry wasn't really one for eloquence.

"Where are we going anyway?" Harry asked later as they made their way into town and up High Street. "The Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh - no," Hermione was jostled from her thoughts as the whistled around them down the hill. "No, it's always packed and really noisy. I've told the others to meet us in the Hog's Head, that other pub, you know the one, it's not on the main road. I think it's a bit... you know... _dodgy_... but students don't normally go in there, so I don't think that we'll be overheard."

The trio passed by Zonko's the twins and Lee near the front window and Hermione's nerves gave a jump when she saw them. She hadn't seen so much as the back of their heads in the last week and it was a bit unnerving considering how she had noticed them being around more often than usual just before that.

With the walk clearing her head as they made their way to the pub, Hermione scrunched her nose at the sight of the Hog's Head sign. Blood dripped from under a severed boar's head as the sign swung in the wind creakily.

"Well, come on," she prompted the boys and Harry led them inside and out of the breeze.

Hermione's resolve about her notion of this being the best place to meet with everyone quickly began to dissolve once they stepped into the dingy one room pub that had a distinct and unpleasant smell about it. The dirt on the floor disguised any first impression of it being stone at all and the windows were so grubby that they mightn't have been touched in as long as the establishment had been standing.

"I don't know about this, Hermione," Harry muttered to her out of the side of his mouth. A glance in his direction saw him eyeing a heavily cloaked witch that was one of four other patrons of the pub. "Has it occurred to you Umbridge might be under that?"

Hermione gave the witch an appraisal and shook her head.

"Umbridge is shorter than that woman," she spoke quietly. "And anyway, even if Umbridge _does_ come in here there's nothing she can so to stop us, Harry, because I've double and triple-checked the school rules. We're not out-of-bounds; I specifically asked Professor Flitwick whether students were allowed to come in the Hog's Head, and he said yes, but he advised me strongly to bring our own glasses. And I've looked up everything I can think of about study groups and homework groups and they're definitely allowed. I just don't think it's a good idea if we _parade_ what we're doing."

"No," Harry snorted. "Especially as it's not exactly a homework group you're planning, is it?"

Hermione gave him a small smile as Ron came to stop behind them. A tall, vaguely familiar man approached them.

"What?" he asked in a gravelly tone.

"Three butterbeers, please," Hermione tried to keep her voice even.

The man pulled out three glass bottles caked in dust and eyed them harshly.

"Six sickles," he stated.

Harry pulled the silver out of his pocket and they retreated to a small table as far away from the bar as they could possibly get. Once people started filtering in and settling around the trio expectantly, Harry gave Hermione a hard look.

"A couple of people?" his voice crackled. "A _couple of people_?"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," Hermione reassured him with a smile. "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"

Hermione couldn't help but look out over the crowd and her eyes stopped on George Weasley who gave her a thumbs up, causing a peculiar sensation near her belly button to bloom regardless of her hesitancy.

All in all, after Harry had had his say and the group had been talked to, everyone seemed in good spirits, happy to be rebelling Umbridge in one way or another. Every attendee had signed the parchment she had produced and Hermione stowed if safely in the inner pocket of her jacket as people filtered back out and into the town to enjoy the rest of their free day.

Stepping outside behind the boys, Hermione rubbed her hands together, remembering the moment where she had handed George the quill to sign the paper and though they didn't touch, she had had to reign in the urge to reach out to him, to touch any part of him. Mortified that he might've seen something in her eye, Hermione had turned away quickly and distracted herself with Ginny and Luna until he had disappeared out of the pub with Lee and Fred. It had been a close call.

A close call for what?

Why was she getting these jumpy feelings around him? Shed never had a crush on him before. She knew what infatuation felt like, thanks to Professors Lockhart and Lupin, and this felt startlingly similar. But she had never before looked at any of the Weasley boys like that. Sometimes she had the whimsical notion that Ron might one day realize that she was indeed a girl and pluck up the courage to do something about it, but it was getting to the point of her not wanting to hold her breath of it anymore.

Was it so terrible to want to be someone's _first_ choice as opposed to second, or as a last resort? Of course not.

Hermione Granger deserved to be someone's first choice. And until she saw any evidence of it, she might as well keep to herself.

So why had George Weasley been attracting her eyes like a magnet?

Honeydukes was bustling with people trying to escape the cold for a few minutes or more and the boys led her in, sidestepping between bodies donning coats and trying to get around to the barrels of ice mice and licorice wands at the back.

"Do you see the Chocolate Frogs anywhere, Hermione?" Ron asked ahead of her.

"No," she responded, being squished between a rather large seventh year Ravenclaw and a glass display case. "I can't see anything - Ron!" Hermione wiggled her way out, swiping her hand through thin air and trying to catch herself before she tumbled.

"Oomph!" she landed on her hands and knees, the seventh year that had been at her back offering an apology, though it was hardly his fault that the shop was so crowded.

"Oi Smithers, out the way if you aren't going to help her up, you prat."

Hermione blew her hair out of her face and saw some familiar looking sneakers and her heart leapt into her throat. This was getting ridiculous.

"Here, Granger," George's hand appeared in her line of vision and she accepted, grateful for the help amidst the booted feet stomping around her exposed fingers. Grasping her hand tightly, Hermione felt him pull her up and set her to rights.

Suddenly, the world revolved around the point where their hands touched and Hermione felt the familiar tingling that she had in the Great Hall before when he had touched her accidentally. Having been slightly unfocused all week, Hermione felt the edges of her mind sharpen significantly and her focus narrowed to their hands again. In the brief moments where they remained connected, Hermione allowed the crispness of concentration to seep back into her consciousness, a weight lifting off her shoulders. When she lifted her eyes to his face, Hermione observed George also staring down at the space between them with a blank look on his face.

"Are you alright?" The Ravenclaw poked his head around George's shoulder and they both jumped, the moment breaking.

"Oh - yes -" Hermione stammered, heat bubbling up from her chest and flushing her cheeks in embarrassment.

"Sorry for -"

"It's not your fault, really. I'm actually going to step outside - and go to the bookshop - George, can you tell Harry and Ron where I've gone? It's too busy in here for my liking -"

* * *

"Yeah," George replied in a hushed voice, watching her retreat to the front door of the shop and jingling the bell with her hasty departure. "Fred?" he turned and started looking for his twin amongst the mass of students. "Fred!"

"What?!" came his reply from across the open barrels of sweets.

"We've got to go back up to the castle!" he motioned for Fred to follow him and Fred hailed Lee over from the Acid Pops, the three of them shuffling for the door.

"What - why've we got to - I haven't finished -" came Fred's grumbles but George ignored him.

Something had happened. There was something terribly wrong between him and Granger. They had both felt it. It had been quite obvious.

"Something's gone cockeyed - the spell - something's wrong," George hissed before pushing the final way through out the door.

"What do you mean?" Lee asked hastily, his eyes sharp.

"Either that spell doesn't do what it says it does or something went wrong, maybe I... Maybe I cast it wrong, I don't know. I have to get back up to the library and have another look at that book."

* * *

**A/N: Oh boy.  
**

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	5. Chapter 5

"What's going on, George?" Fred's voice was becoming more concerned the closer to the castle they got, directly related to George's increasing inability to voice his concerns coherently.

"There's something wrong. I think I did something wrong to Granger," he finally ground out as they flew up the Grand Staircase and rounded into the third floor corridor.

"What do you mean?" Lee pressed, his voice being the only one that was remaining calm.

"I don't know - I just know that something's not right," George insisted.

"What happened?" Fred asked, shocked.

"I touched her," George slowed as they pushed through the doors into the library and scurried quickly over to the Charms section. "I touched her, and I felt this shock and I think she felt it too -"

"I knew it!" Fred stopped mid-way down the row and pointed wryly at George.

George felt his heart hammering in his chest and he was breathing heavily, his blood skipping through his veins feeling a lot like rocks skipping over still water.

"What?" he asked, taking a deep breath and letting it fill his lungs as Lee paused between them.

"I knew you were starting to fancy her!" he hissed and took a few steps closer to George. "You've been acting oddly and there's never any explanation that I can see except for her."

"I didn't fancy her before - I - I don't even think I fancy her _now_, that's what I'm saying. I think whatever I did is making me feel - Look, I'm not sure, but when have I _ever_ considered Granger? I mean she's not exactly my type, Fred," George rambled quietly, thankful that the library seemed quite empty, due in large part to the Hogsmeade trip.

"Explain," Lee insisted, his lips tight.

"I thought I might be starting to fancy her too, except... The tingles and shocks, every time we touch, even just by accident and just now - it was obvious that it's something bigger than just starting to fancy her!" George wasn't even sure if what he was saying made sense, or was even possible. Could a spell cause all that? It wasn't anything like a love potion - it was a spell for _anger_ for Merlin's sake.

"What might've gone wrong then? It was a medical text! It's not as if they'd let an incorrect version circle about, not with something that could go terribly wrong, as you say -" Fred rambled, making to dismiss George's claims.

"That's why I think _I_ must've made a mistake. I need to have another look at that book."

* * *

Hours later, Hermione returned to the castle after spending quite a long stretch of time in the book shop in Hogsmeade with her thoughts occupied with trying to figure out what exactly was going on. She hardly remembered any of the books she had idly pulled from the shelves and flipped through, her body operating on habit and muscle memory alone.

Something was definitely up.

When Hermione Granger didn't know the answer to a question, her first stop was the library. With that in mind, she wandered down from the Tower after dropping her outdoor gear up in her dormitory and quietly considered what to even look up, reference or cross-check. What was... even wrong?

Distraction, proportionately affected by nearness and proximity to George Weasley?

...That was a bit of a leap, wasn't it?

A good sit-down with a list of symptoms might be in order. But to even have anything to go on, she had to observe her body's reactions in situ.

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder again, Hermione pushed into the library, nodded to Madam Pince and wove her way back through the stacks, all the while pondering over her problem. She didn't want to get close to George again considering the look in his eyes when he had touched her hand in the shop mere hours ago. But in order to figure out if the odd feelings she'd been having had anything to do with him, she'd have to test her theory.

And speak of the devil, there was George sitting at a table near the Charms section, Lee and Fred disappearing around the corner of a large bookcase on the other side of him.

"May I sit with you?" Hermione spoke up, biting the bullet and throwing herself into detective mode.

"What -" George looked up sharply, "- oh yeah, of course." He nodded and she gave him a tight smile, sliding into the seat kitty corner from him. Being deliberately slow, Hermione pulled her things from her bag; parchment, ink and quill, Transfiguration book, half-done essay.

"You're rather quiet," Hermione muttered pointedly at him.

"I'm reading," he answered. "You're quiet when you read, too."

"Fair point," Hermione conceded. "Look, about earlier-"

"Sorry about that, I don't -" George's eyes snapped up to her again and she held his gaze, tamping down the urge to look away.

"I never thanked you properly for helping me, so - thanks," Hermione spoke quickly.

"Oh, right. You're welcome. Shouldn't have been necessary, mind you, but Smithers is a daft prat considering he's a Ravenclaw."

Over the next few days, Hermione kept a close eye on herself and George, trying to fit the pieces together to no avail. At the same time, she was trying to get Harry and Ron to keep their heads as not only did someone injure Hedwig as she was returning from Grimmauld Place with a message, but Sirius almost got caught in the common room fire during a floo call with him, and Umbridge disbanded all organizations including Quidditch.

* * *

_'By Order Of_

_The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts_

_All Students Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups and Clubs are henceforth disbanded._

_An Organization, Society, Team, Group or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students._

_Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge)._

_No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor._

_Any students found to have formed, or belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four._

_Signed:_

_Delores Jane Umbridge_

_High Inquisitor'_

"What in the name of Merlin's bollocks is that all about?" Lee mumbled tiredly as the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder before the notice board in the Gryffindor common room.

"First thing in the bloody morning on a Monday. It's going to be a banner week, isn't it? I can just feel it in my bones," Fred responded, equally as sluggish.

"Sod this, I need breakfast before Angelina's frantic panicking over the team starts," George muttered.

They made their way down to the Great Hall ahead of the Quidditch Captain and slid onto the benches by Harry, Ron and Hermione. George let his gaze linger on Granger for a second, their eyes meeting. She quirked her lips at him as she chewed her mouthful of jam toast and he watched as she pulled a muggle notebook and pen from her bag and started scribbling. She didn't seem to be finishing any time soon and George took this as his queue to dish himself some porridge and juice.

Promptly Neville, Dean and Ginny settled at the table around the six already gathered.

"Did you see it?" Neville began with wide eyes.

"D'you reckon she knows?" Dean hissed, casting a glance up to the High Table.

"What are we going to do?" Ginny asked, trepidation evident in her voice but her shoulders squared with determination.

"We're going to do it anyway," Harry responded with sincerity after quickly checking to make sure no teachers were close enough to hear him.

"Knew you'd say that," said George with a wide grin and he thumped Harry on the arm jovially. He hadn't thought about their group being technically illegal until he had seen the look in Ginny's eye and put two and two together.

"The prefects as well?" Fred goaded, looking questioningly between Ron and Hermione across from them.

"Of course," Hermione replied evenly, the flashing of her brown eyes the only sign of her bristling to his words.

"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," Ron said, craning his neck. "_And_ those Ravenclaws blokes and Smith... and no one looks very spotty."

George watched Hermione across the table as she sat up straighter and whipped around, her eyes darting to the High Table and around the Great Hall quickly.

"Never mind spots, those idiots can't come over here now, it'll look really suspicious - sit down!" she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, trying to gesture discreetly for them to stay away from the Gryffindor table. "Later! We'll - talk - to - you - _later_!"

"I'll tell Michael," said Ginny, sliding off the bench. "The fool, honestly..."

"Harry! _Ron_!" Angelina was bustling down the length of the Gryffindor table towards the fifth years sitting close by and George looked up at the sound of tightness in her voice. That didn't bode well.

"It's okay," Harry gave her small shake of the head. "We're still going to -"

"You realize she's including Quidditch in this?" Angelina interrupted him. "We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

"_What_?" said Harry.

"This is a bloody rubbish Monday," George grumbled and slumped in his seat.

"No way," Ron said, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.

"You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry... I am saying this for the last time... Please, _please_ don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"

"Okay, okay," Harry responded quickly with a jerky nod. "Don't worry, I'll behave myself..."

"Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic. She hasn't inspected Binns yet... Bet you anything she's there..." Ron grumbled into his empty plate.

The seventh years said goodbye to the fifth years outside the Great Hall as the three headed up to History and Fred, George and Lee descended into the dungeons for Potions with Snape.

"D'you think she'll actually keep the Gryffindor Team from playing?" Lee asked and they all shared a dark look over their cauldrons of their Draughts of Peace.

"She's a bloody menace of a woman," George replied and Fred nodded.

"I wouldn't put anything past her," he threw in. "We already have Potter, who pisses her off just by breathing, and she clearly favours Slytherin which means she'll throw our lot under the cauldron at a moment's notice. And _now_ she's got a sodding decree that says she can override any punishment than any other professor gives."

"We ought to mind our toes, gentlemen. Don't want to give that old toad a reason to stick her nose into our detentions for any reason. Might be tempted to up the severity of the punishment, so to speak," George waved the back of his hand around vaguely, Fred and Lee taking note and agreeing.

"Much as we love to flirt with the line, I think for the time being, it's a necessity," Lee commented, stirring his gently bubbling cauldron and lowering the flame beneath it as Fred and George consulted the potions book between them.

"Ah, well... we mind our 'p's and 'q's now, and _later_... dare I say it - fireworks!" Fred aid in a hushed voice.

A significant look was passed between them and they smirked into their work quietly.

That afternoon the three of them managed to pull together some complete samples for the Skiving Snackboxes, intending to put on a show in the Gryffindor common room. Lee had the brilliant idea to only use them on themselves in front of Hermione, that way she would have no reason to give any of them detention.

"Come and see this!"

"You won't want to miss this demonstration!"

"Weasley and Weasley present..."

"Puking Pastilles!"

It was a madhouse in their corner by the time a crowd started to form and the three of them were entirely aware of the glares Hermione was sending their way from her place in front of the fire.

"Just go and stop them, then!" came Harry's voice after George had vomited spectacularly into a bucket on the floor.

"I can't, they're not _technically_ doing anything wrong!" came Hermione's torn reply and they launched into a fresh wave of calls and working the crowd into a frenzy. The galleons were pouring in at this point for advance orders and the twins were beyond ecstatic. Happiness and pride bubbled up in George's chest.

They had been working so hard for something, anything, to do with this plan of theirs and they finally had proof that they would do well. Really well, if the looks on the faces around then were any indication.

* * *

"So have you found anything on the spell?" Lee asked quietly as they trudged away from the warm common room and up the stairs.

"No," George sighed. "I've read the book back to front and I can't see how I could have done anything wrong. I was careful, I did the wand movement correctly... there's nothing for it, we'll just have to keep an eye on the situation... maybe inspiration will strike, or maybe I haven't done anything at all..."

He had been reading up on the Delinio Temperantia spell and its close relatives, but nothing was turning up to explain the curious things that seemed to be happening between Hermione and himself. Maybe it was just all in his head.

"Maybe you just fancy her and you don't realize it," Fred suggested off-handedly and George snorted.

"I don't think so, Freddy," he replied. "Like I said before, she's not my type."

"Not your type?" Fred laughed. "She's a _girl_. What's not to like? Aside from her infernal need to follow rules - you'll have to break her of that Georgie, because I cannot stand for it, no sir. We shan't be getting along until she realizes how utterly dull that is."

"I think you're a bit ahead of yourself, _Freddy _-"

"Right, let's do this," Lee interrupted them and they flashed irritated looks at one another before shutting up and concentrating. Fred, George and Lee set off down the seventh floor corridor that Ron had told them about for the first meeting of Dumbledore's Army, the corridor itself rather barren and quiet.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Fred asked, confused.

"Isn't this where... no, maybe not..." George's voice petered off when they found a door set into the stone and looked at each other hesitantly.

"Right, well, pluck up the bollocks, gents," Fred reached for the handle and pushed in, finding a gathering of students grouped around Harry, who was explaining something, Ron who was observing the room in wonder and Hermione, who was sitting cross legged with a book. How predictable. She looked up when they came in, the door shutting behind them seamlessly and quietly before she gave herself a shake and went back to reading as the door opened behind them and in came more students. They began to settle on the cushions placed on the floor around the room, off to the side so that they could be close but no block all the younger, smaller students from seeing Harry.

"Well, this is the place we've found for practices, and you've - er - obviously found it okay -"

"It's fantastic!" Cho Chang spoke up and people all around the room nodded and murmured in agreement.

"It's bizarre," spoke his twin from beside him. "We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then..."

"Hey, Harry, what's this stuff?" asked Dean from the back of the room, pointing at a bunch of Sneakoscopes and a pane of frosty glass that had shadows moving inside of it.

"Dark Detectors," replied Harry, and everyone turned to survey the room a bit better, from its large bookshelves to all the trinkets and gadgets scattered throughout the room. "Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don't want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled... I've been thinking of the stuff we ought to do first and - er - what, Hermione?" Harry gave her an odd look as she raised her hand.

"I think we ought to elect a leader," spoke Hermione, voice crystal clear.

"Harry's leader," countered Cho immediately, the look on her face indicating exactly what she thought of Hermione's words.

"Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly," Hermione said with emphasis. Fred tipped his head over to meet George's eyes and raised his brows pointedly, to which George shook his head and sighed. "It makes it more formal and gives him authority. So - everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?" she put the question out to the group. All the hands rose and she looked quite pleased with herself.

"Er - right, thanks," Harry blushed and George kept his snigger to himself as he saw Hermione's hand wave in the air again. "And - _what_, Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name," she chirruped succinctly. "It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

"Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?" asked Angelina hopefully, the girl only just starting to wind down after getting permission back to re-form the Gryffindor Team after she had appealed to McGonagall when she did not immediately receive clearance from the High Inquisitor.

"Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?" laughed Fred.

"I was thinking," began Hermione with a frown in Fred's direction, causing him to give George another look, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we're up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

She had a point.

"The Defense Association? The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we're talking about?" suggested Cho.

"Yeah, the D.A.'s good. Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?" Everyone turned to Ginny as she spoke, nodding and agreeing with her modification.

"All in favour of the D.A.?" Hermione commandeered the attention of the group again, rising on her knees to count the hands that raised after her question. "That's a majority - motion passed!" She rose fully to tack the paper with all their names on to the wall, the scribbled title of Dumbledore's Army in fresh ink at the top. George watched as she lowered herself back down daintily and smoothed her skirt once she was sitting again.

"Right," Harry began again, "shall we get started practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is _Expelliarmus_, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic but I've found it really useful -"

"Oh, _please_. I don't think _Expelliarmus_ is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?" Zacharias Smith rolled his eyes as he interrupted Harry and folded his arms in defiance.

"I've used it against him. It saved my life last June," Harry said carefully, quietly.

The rest of the room was very quiet as the Hufflepuff opened and closed his mouth, trying to find something to say.

"But it you think it's beneath you, you can leave," Harry stated and George felt the desire to punch the air above himself triumphantly. Bloody git.

No one moved, or even shuffled.

"Okay," continued Harry, the room thawing after the exchange. "I reckon we should all divide up into pairs and practice."

Immediately the occupants of the room were on their feet and dividing off, and Lee was hailing Katie, knowing before even looking that the twins would partner up. Instead of practicing on each other though, the twins shared a look and set about taking turns disarming Zacharias Smith, who was partnered with Anthony Goldstein. Momentarily, Harry spotted them and they straightened up with smirks on their faces.

"Sorry, Harry," George grinned. "Couldn't resist."

Harry gave them a small grin and continued on his way around the group, correcting here and there and letting people work out for themselves how to do the charm consistently.

"D'you reckon he can pull this off?" Fred asked him, tossing George's wand back to him after relieving him of it just moments before.

"Yeah, I think so," George looked over his shoulder for a moment before turning back and disarming Fred, catching his wand mid-arc.

"No, that doesn't count!" came Hermione voice and they both looked over the head of Colin and Dennis Creevey to see Ron red in the face and picking himself up off the ground.

"It does too, Hermione," he grumbled, rubbing his elbow and stepping back from her as she bent down to pick up her wand, her skirt swishing against the stone floor.

"Not even a little bit. Try again," Hermione urged and the two took stance against each other once more.

"Bossy little bird," Fred commented and George inhaled a slow breath before flicking his wand at Fred and making his wand go flying again.

"You know, it's alright to admit you want in her knickers, mate," Lee grinned as they walked slowly down the hall away from the Room of Requirement later that night.

"I don't -" George sighed, rubbing his palms into his eye sockets roughly and trying to keep his voice down so that no one overheard their conversation.

"It might help with her temper!" Fred picked up where Lee left off. "Yeah, listen! If you give her a good snog, maybe she'll stop riding our backs about everything -"

"Fred, I don't think she'd -" George shook his head, wondering how he was ever going to get Fred to shut up about it and help him find a solution instead of continuously implying that shagging Hermione was the best course of action.

"You've just got to make it a good one, and that way you'll catch her off guard and _bam_! Problem solved. She'll be so distracted with your masculinity she won't have time to scream - at _us_, I mean," Fred gave him a wink and George felt his cheeks flushing with frustration.

"Yeah, and look, if you're nervous, we can give you some pointers, George," Lee laughed and Fred howled.

"Would you just _drop _it! I don't fancy her and I'm not going to snog her just so that she stops threatening to tell mum about our operation!" George's voice rang out and he huffed at his two friends, their eyes wide as they turned to look at him. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just tired of the -"

"Erm, mate, I think you have bigger problems," Lee hissed and widened his eyes pointedly.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh.  
**

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**And if you're in the mood for a shorter Fred/Hermione one-shot, I will suggest to you Lunch Date by Politelycynical (you can click through my favourites and it should be near the top somewhere). I had the pleasure of chatting with her about it beforehand and it's a great little M-rated giggle. **

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	6. Chapter 6

In the following weeks, Hermione had an odd time of it.

On one side, Harry was a lot happier and was having a better time of ignoring Umbridge's baiting because he had the D.A. to focus on. The change in her moody friend was absolutely astounding, and it lifted a little weight off her shoulders knowing that even though he wasn't going to be talking to Sirius any time soon, he was at least holding up well under the terrible toad of a woman.

On the other side, she was avoiding George and the other two seventh years with incredible prowess. She had made it her mission to circumvent them at every opportunity considering the embarrassment she had felt when she had overheard George after the first D.A. meeting. Still acutely aware of the embarrassment she had felt blooming under her uniform and spreading up to her cheeks was enough to cause another sympathetic reaction, one she felt every time she so much as caught a glance of the back of his head or heard his voice in the common room.

It wasn't as if she had thought he'd fancied her, it was just...

Maybe she'd been confunded!

She wasn't having any luck trying to figure out what was wrong. All her notes suggested that she genuinely liked the feeling of being nearer to him, and that her concentration was starting to suffer the longer she avoided him. Which was not much to go on.

Of course, now that it had been weeks since that first meeting, and the only time she was ever to be found in the vicinity of George was the other D.A. meetings, her mind felt fuzzy and unfocused every morning when she woke and continued through the day.

One particularly brutal Potions class, Hermione had almost slipped and added the Bicorn Horn to her mixture too early, and Neville had given her a look of bewilderment as he caught her wrist just in time.

"Are you sure you're okay, Hermione?" he'd asked.

"Y - yeah," she'd stammered.

"How about you let me do this part?" he'd suggested timidly. "Never thought I'd say that."

"Er - yeah, that's probably a good idea." Hermione had taken a seat on her stool and readied the rest of the ingredients for Neville to add when the time was right.

"Why was Neville making the potion?" Rod had asked later, curious. "You never let him do that part."

"I do too," Hermione had snapped.

The boys had given her looks of hesitancy after her outburst.

"I'm sorry, you're right," Hermione sighed a moment later. "I'm not feeling well, that's all. He took over so I didn't add the wrong thing and kill us all."

"Right," Harry said, scepticism still on his face. "We have practice tonight, are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I can get Ginny," Ron offered. "It's just that we have to go for the extra practice this week because we have the game tomorrow..."

"I'll be fine," Hermione gave a weak smile. "I'd better work on some Arithmancy anyway, or I'll never get through it."

The boys had left for practice straight after dinner and Hermione found herself on the sofa in front of the fire. Most people gave her space and didn't bother her, lest they welcome a good telling off from the Gryffindor Prefect and so she spent her time in relative silence. The common room itself was not as full as it normally was, as it was a Friday night. Curfew wasn't for over an hour and so the students were taking advantage of not having to do homework immediately after classes. She was sure the Astronomy Tower was full of couples and that the Great Hall was hosting a number of clubs that night, and if that meant her common room wasn't crowded and noisy, she was thankful for it.

Just before curfew the portrait opened and in trekked the Quidditch team, still in their gear and sweaty from practice.

"Aaaah," Fred sighed, sinking onto the couch next to Hermione and she wrinkled her nose.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned. He didn't even bother with furniture and threw himself down on the rug before the fire laying on his back and stretching his legs.

"Are you lot alright?" Hermione asked, sitting up and laying down her quill.

"I'm not sure," replied Harry as he reclined in the seat to her left, slumping and stretching his legs out as well.

Angelina, Alicia and Katie came in behind them and headed straight for the girl's dorms, presumably to shower and change.

"Why don't you go have a shower? I'm sure you'll feel better," she suggested.

"I can't move for a minute," Ron mumbled, pulling his knees up one at a time and pulling them close to his chest, letting out a sigh of happiness at whatever he was stretching out.

"Ange was brutal tonight," Fred hissed, throwing an arm over his eyes and sinking into the couch further. It was the beginning of November, which also meant that the wind was chilly and practices at night made it difficult to stay on your broom for longer periods of time. That would explain the three boys' cold-flushed cheeks and the need to be close to the fire.

"Where's..." Hermione's brow furrowed. She wasn't even sure if she should ask considering her new policy of cutting George out of every interaction she had.

"Oh, the idiot wasn't paying attention and let a bludger knock him senseless," Fred groaned. "I don't know what he was thinking..." He lifted his elbow and peeked one eye out at Hermione, who snapped her gaze back to her work quickly. "He's been so distracted lately." Hermione got the distinct impression that Fred was watching her reaction for some reason and remained emotionless and stoic at the line.

So George was feeling distracted too?

That was a new thought to consider.

So distracted that he had gotten himself injured during practice?

Well, that wasn't safe. They had the Slytherin game tomorrow and they played underhandedly. He was sure to be in for tricky business and cheating, and something could very well injure him again, but more severely.

"Is he alright?"

"Oh, Pomfrey's got him in the Hospital Wing. She knocked him out after giving him some potions, he was out cold when we left him. She said he'd be fine in the morning. He'll probably be back before the night is over," Fred shuffled again.

Hermione's mind raced. If he was having similar symptoms - could she call them symptoms? - then maybe he would feel better if she was near. It was possible, and Hermione couldn't bear the thought of George getting hurt in tomorrow's game because he couldn't concentrate, especially when she had the power to help, even if it was just until she could talk to him and find out what was going on.

He probably had no clue either, but she would have to ask. She would have to tamp down her flushing embarrassment and grit her teeth and just get it done.

"What time is it?" she asked vaguely, plans still forming in her head.

"Quarter to eight," Harry answered. "Have you started the essay for Charms, because I have no idea what to start with for -"

"Sorry," Hermione dumped her stuff on the table her feet had been braced against just a second before and jumped up. "I've just realized - I've left my quill in the library -"

"Your quill? You mean that one?" Ron propped himself up on his elbows and nodded to the low table she had just put her stuff on.

"My _favourite_ quill," Hermione countered.

"_Obviously_," Fred drawled from beside her and she tossed him a glare before pulling her sweater over her head and turning for the portrait. "Be back in a minute!" she called before hopping out into the seventh floor corridor. It was nearly curfew and there were students in the halls heading back towards the tower as Hermione made her way swiftly in search of George Weasley. She was a prefect, and so hopefully no one would question her on her way to and from the Hospital Wing.

Rounding into the first floor and heading though the main cloister surrounding one of the courtyards, Hermione shivered as the night air nipped at her heels. Pushing back into the castle through some doors on the other side, she came around the last corner and ran right into a tall body.

"Umph!"

Hermione felt a hand clasp her upper arm quickly, stopping her from falling backwards.

"Oh, my dear girl, are you quite alright?"

The sparkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore stared intently down at her and she flushed.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry, I should have been looking where I was going -"

"Ms. Granger, it is alright, please don't worry yourself," he said happily, letting her go once he was sure she would not fall over after their sudden collision. "Since you are here, might I ask you to see that Mr. Weasley gets back to the Gryffindor common room? I would help him myself but it seems that Peeves is causing somewhat of an disturbance in the Divination Tower."

"Oh, I - sure, I suppose I can, yes," Hermione felt herself stumble over her words, confused and caught off guard.

"Excellent," Professor Dumbledore gave her a small nod in thanks. "I will let Minerva know that you are taking care of it, in the case that she comments on you not finishing your rounds before curfew."

"Oh," Hermione started. He thought she was on Prefect Duty tonight. "I'm not -"

"It's not a problem, my dear. Once you get him back, there will be no need for you to continue with your Prefect responsibilities. Enjoy an early night!"

With that, he disappeared around the corner she had just turned, the shuffling of his long cloak the only thing to indicate that he had indeed just been there speaking to her.

This might be more than she'd bargained for.

Taking a slow breath, Hermione moved to the end of the hall and peeked into the Hospital Wing. From behind a divider, she could hear Madam Pomfrey's voice and see her shadow standing over another sitting on one of the cots.

"But I can still play tomorrow, yeah?" George's voice met her ears and she rolled her eyes, taking a few steps closer.

"Yes, you can. But don't let it happen again!" scolded the matron.

"It's not like I planned it," George laughed.

"Well, see that you pay attention from now on. I don't want to see you in here again for another week, in the very least!"

"Oh, Poppy, I just can't stay away, you know that!" he called after her as the nurse left his bedside.

"_That boy_," she sighed before spotting Hermione. "Ms. Granger? Are you ill?"

"Oh - no, I'm not. Uhm - Professor Dumbledore asked me to see George back to the common room if he was well enough to leave." She paused. "Is he?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine, the clumsy - the both of you hurry back now, it's nearly curfew," the matron nodded to her and bustled off to her office.

"Granger, is that your voice I hear?" George called, and Hermione saw his shadow shift behind the curtain.

"Yes, I'm - I've been instructed to see you back to the dorms. Are you decent?" she asked, panicking silently. This was the first time she'd talked to him in weeks, but as she slowed her thoughts and concentrated, she could feel her foggy mind clearing with every step closer to him she took. Not knowing what was causing this was maddening.

"M'never decent," he snorted. "But I am clothed, if that's what you mean."

"Yes," Hermione stepped around the divider and spotted him sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his Quidditch uniform like the others had been with a white bandage wrapped around his forehead. "Are you ready?"

"You know, this is the only time I've gotten an escort back to the Tower," he laughed, heaving himself up tiredly. Somehow in the last few weeks Hermione had seemingly forgotten how tall the seventh year was and he instantly dwarfed her, looking down at her with hesitant eyes that were somehow still bright.

"Come on, it's nearly -"

"Curfew, yeah, yeah," George rolled his eyes and stooped to grab his head gear. "Keep your knickers on."

Hermione tutted at him and turned on her heel, relishing in the feel of mental sharpness as it brushed away the cobwebs in the corners of her mind. She padded quickly to the doors and turned, seeing him hobbling after her.

"You don't have to run, Granger. My head aches too much for that anyway," he grumbled as he caught up.

"And whose fault is _that_?" Hermione questioned rhetorically.

"Funny, ha," he deadpanned.

They began their trek up to the Gryffindor Tower and silence enveloped them as they trotted down the corridors, enough space between them for another person or two. Hermione's mind was running quickly again, going over the facts that she had been gathering and the notes she had been taking. What did all of this mean?

George gave a low hiss as they turned and climbed a small set of stairs into the Entrance Hall.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, her brows pulling together on her forehead.

"Yeah," he looked over, rolling his shoulder. "I think I pulled something during practice. I was just harshly reminded of it."

Silence fell over them again as the staircases carried them up towards the common room. George was fiddling with something but Hermione didn't dare to look.

"Hey, could you - ah - could you help me get this bandage off? It's bloody itchy and I can't find the end of it."

They came to a halt on the set of stairs that would take them into the seventh floor corridor and she turned to look at him. George had his head cocked and his fingers were inching along the edge of the gauze and scratching his scalp incessantly.

"Are you sure you should be taking it off?" she asked hesitantly.

"Pompfrey didn't say not to and I want it off now," George looked at her, a pleading look in his eye as he watched her crane her neck and look for the end of the bandage.

"Oh, it's just - just there," she raised a hand to indicate to him. "It's tucked under, that's why."

"Could you get it?" he asked, running his fingers along the dressing in the wrong place.

"Yeah, hold still -" Hermione reached up but wasn't tall enough to get at it without pressing her front into his arm. Thinking that this was probably not the best route to take, she hopped up a few more steps so that she was more his height in comparison. Reaching for the bandage, Hermione slid one finger underneath and fished for the end, George's hair tickling her palm.

"Sorry," she continued, feeling a little odd under his gaze as he was staring right at her. Her finger felt the edge finally and as she hooked her knuckle, the pad of her finger brushed against his scalp and she gasped, wavering on the step. George jumped at the sudden sound and grabbed her other arm, holding her steady and keeping her from pitching down the staircase.

Heat spread up from the tip of her finger, warming her bones and sending a prickle of electricity over the skin of her arm under her uniform. All at once she realised that she was incredibly close to George Weasley, their bodies only just over a foot away from each other. So close to him, in fact, that she could feel the heat radiating from his body and she could smell the scent of fresh outdoors on his skin combined with the leather of his Quidditch gear. It was a heady combination, one she was surprised to find pleasant.

Hermione realised that they were both standing stock still and she was staring down at his hand on her arm awkwardly. Raising her gaze she found his face and her eyes travelled over his cheek that was curiously dotted with a tiny amount of scruff, up over his freckled nose, and settling on his blue irises. Hermione hadn't realised it, but her brain had shut out all outside stimuli, and the sounds of the castle began to filter back into her consciousness. They were both taking slow, deep breaths and she could see a flush forming high on his cheeks and knew that her own were mirroring his reaction perfectly.

"Uhm - here you go," Hermione pinched the gauze between forefinger and thumb and pulled it loose for him. Her voice had broken some sort of trance and George let his arm fall back to his side away from her. The coolness of the castle air shocked her arm even through her jumper and she pulled her own hand away.

"Right - thanks," George breathed and reached up to unravel it himself.

Hermione's heart was fluttering in her chest but she forced her feet to turn and start back up the stairs towards the seventh floor landing. She heard George's flying boots shuffle after her slowly and the pair made their way along the corridor, him following a few strides behind her.

"Whistling Thistle," Hermione said as they came up to the Fat Lady and she felt George reach out to hold it open for her to climb through ahead of him. "Thanks," she breathed.

What in the -

"Are you coming to the game tomorrow?" George spoke up as they stepped into the common area.

"Erm, yes, I think so," Hermione answered, looking up at him close to her side.

"Did you find your quill?" Fred's voice made them both glance over to the fire and he was in the same spot she had left him in with his head tipped back against the back of the sofa.

"What?" George asked, perplexed.

"Oh - no - it was gone," Hermione shook her head and dropped her eyes, moving around the back of it before settling down in her spot at the other end of it.

"Pity," Ron rolled his eyes, his head back on the rug beneath him.

"How's your head feeling, Georgie?" Fred asked as his twin stepped over his extended legs and settled on the middle cushion of the sofa gingerly.

"Like a static-y wireless, thank you Freddie," he replied, dropping the ball of white bandage gauze on the table.

Hermione pressed herself into the corner of the sofa, trying her very hardest to stay as far away from George as possible. She tried in vain to concentrate on her textbook for the remainder of the evening while the boys sat and discussed a lot of Quidditch-sounding things, terms like 'cobbing', 'snitchnipping' and 'backbeating' hindering her ability to follow along with any degree of understanding. She felt George's eyes every time they flicked over to her but remained intent upon her homework until they all eventually left for the showers.

* * *

**A/N: Oooooh boy.  
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	7. Chapter 7

The morning of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match dawned bright and cold, a stark contrast to the grey skies they had been having for the later part of October that had melted into freezing winds and biting rains. Hoping that the good weather, though still cold, would help the players keep their wits about them, Hermione rose and showered leisurely. Her hair was getting quite long and she felt the weight of the water as it drenched her hair and pulled the curls down until it was slicked straight against her back.

Hermione sighed.

Yesterday had been...

Illuminating? Enlightening?

Not particularly, considering she had only gone to bed with more questions than she had woken up with. However, one thing was sure: this had everything to do with George Weasley, and she would be finding out what was going on poste-haste. Perhaps after the game, or on Sunday, but by Monday she had hopes of knowing what exactly had transpired between them on the staircase the night before.

A rushing clarity of the mind, a similar hazing of the world around her, the shock of her skin touching his and the racing heat that had flooded in its wake.

She didn't fancy him _either_ \- but even if she did - well, she'd fancied Viktor and his attentions last year, and none of the relatively innocent touches they had exchanged had felt like _that_, put it that way. It was strange and foreign, and a little bit scary the way she had completely forgotten that they were standing in the middle of a public forum after curfew with her hand in his hair. On top of that, she distinctly remembered the feeling that had overwhelmed her when he had automatically reached to steady her as she'd wobbled on the steps above him. The moment she felt the gentle squeeze on her upper arm she had desperately wanted his hand to run down the rest of it, right to her fingertips. She had wanted to push her fingers deeper into his hair and pull him closer, always closer -

Hermione's eyes popped open.

Those thoughts were not helpful. And neither were the feelings he caused.

She would have to get to the bottom of this, and soon.

Hermione finished with her morning activities quickly, drying her hair with magic and weaving into a messy plait. She grabbed her winter clothes and headed down to the Great Hall for some breakfast. Soon after she arrived, Harry and Ron entered and headed straight for her halfway down the Gryffindor table. Ron was looking worse for wear, pale and sweaty and as usual the Slytherins were not helping. They looked like they were taunting him with something, a pin maybe? However, upon spotting Harry and Ron, the Gryffindors gave a rousing greeting, a mass of red-and-gold donned students.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked as Harry pushed Ron into the seat next to her.

"I must've been mental to do this," he said by way of answer and Harry pursed his lips in exasperation. "_Mental_."

"Don't be thick," the raven-haired boy replied with firmness and passed Ron a bunch of cereals to choose from before sitting down on the other side of him. "You're going to be fine. It's normal to be nervous."

"I'm rubbish," the redhead croaked. "I'm lousy. I can't play to save my life. What was I thinking?"

"Get a grip," Harry said forcefully. "Look at that save you made with your foot the other day, even Fred and George said it was brilliant -"

Ron's face morphed into a mask of tortured suffering.

"That was an accident," he insisted quietly. "I didn't mean to do it - I slipped off my broom when none of you were looking and I was trying to get back on and I kicked the Quaffle by accident."

"Well." Hermione saw the tiniest grimace on Harry's face before he continued. "A few more accidents like that and the game's in the bag, isn't it?"

Ginny chose that moment to join them at the table, her hat, scarf and mittens clutched loosely in her hand. Neville, Seamus and Dean sat down momentarily as well.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked Ron, who was now staring despondently into the remnants of his cereal with intent.

"He's just nervous," Harry responded.

"Well, that's a good sign, I never feel you perform as well in exams if you're not a bit nervous," Hermione spoke up with gusto, certain that everyone could tell it was put on.

"Hello," a wistful voice greeted them and they all turned to find Luna Lovegood standing behind them. People from up and down all of the tables were beginning to point and snicker, and for good reason. Perched incredibly oddly on her head was a life-size lion's head. "I'm supporting Gryffindor," she continued. "Look what it does..."

She reached up with her wand and tapped the hat once. It opened its large mouth, Hermione drawing back a few inches, and gave a very loud and very realistic-sounding roar that made everyone within twenty metres jump.

"It's good, isn't it?" she asked with a happy smile. "I wanted to have it chewing a serpent to represent Slytherin, you know, but there wasn't enough time. Anyway... good luck, Ronald!"

Everyone watched as she retreated back to the Ravenclaw table slowly and Angelina appeared.

"When you're ready," she spoke to Harry and Ron, "we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change."

"We'll be there in a bit," Harry nodded. "Ron's just got to have some breakfast."

Hermione gave Angelina a hopeful smile as she left, trying to think of anything to say to Ron that he might construe as encouraging. Nothing came and the boys rose to leave once Harry realised that there was no feeding Ron on this morning.

"Don't let Ron see what's on those Slytherins' badges," she hissed, suspicious of their earlier reactions and convinced it was something that would ruin what little confidence Ron had to begin with considering his nervousness. Harry gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head, not having any answers for him. "Good luck, Ron," Hermione rose to kiss his freckled cheek, hoping that this would boost his spirits some. "And you Harry."

The boys left and Hermione observed the Slytherins again as they walked by to leave the castle, narrowing her eyes at them tightly.

"So now you're kissing my brother's cheek, hmm?" Ginny piped up as Neville, Seamus and Dean carried on a hearty conversation a few seats down from them.

"Did you see him? I had to do something," Hermione mumbled, feeling a blush form on her face.

"S'all right. He needs all the help he can get, poor idiot," Ginny laughed and the girls set about finishing their breakfast.

"Do you think they have a chance?" Hermione asked. Ginny was a Quidditch follower like the rest of her brothers and therefore was a good person to ask about these sorts of things.

"Well," she chewed her toast and swallowed. "If Ron can get past his nervousness, he's actually pretty good. It's just that he doesn't believe in himself, he compares himself to people like Harry and it does him no good. When it's just us and the others throwing around the old Quaffle of ours in the orchard, he's brilliant. He just lets those tossers get to him," she gestured to the Slytherins who had since gone back to their normal behaviour.

"Well, Oliver's the only one who left because he graduated right? So the rest of the team if the same as last year?" Hermione questioned.

"Mhm. And from what I've seen, Angelina's running the same sorts of drills and keeping them on the same schedule as much as possible," Ginny commented.

"So in theory, if Ron can keep it together long enough, they could win," Hermione concluded, pulling on her coat and tugging her hat down over her ears while Ginny did the same as they ambled out of the Great Hall, other students trailing out after them. The roaring of Luna's ridiculous hat was nearby and Hermione turned to see it bobbing over the crowd a bit behind them.

"We should ask her to sit with us," Ginny commented lightly, glancing sideways at Hermione to judge her reaction. It was no secret that the whimsical Ravenclaw got on her nerves, but Hermione could also see that a lot of people teased her. Hermione had always considered herself as someone who would stand up for others and so she nodded, if only to be kind to the misfit. They were all sort of misfits anyway, weren't they?

"Luna!" they called, their pause in the stream of students causing people to divert around them on the path down to the pitch. Neville, Dean and Seamus also stopped to wait for the Ravenclaw girl and as a group they set off to find some seats high in the stands on the Gryffindor side.

The sky was clear and a pale shade of blue that indicated winter had definitely arrived. There was a crispness to the air that reminded Hermione of ski trips in the French Alps, and she prayed that they snow would stay away for as long as possible. The group found some seats together and settled in.

"Have you seen those badges of theirs?" Neville asked curiously.

"Yeah, the bleedin' Slytherin wankers have gone and spelled 'em to say 'Weasley is Our King'. Not right sure what it means but I'd bet my bollocks it isn't good," Seamus answered him with a growl.

"Arseholes," Ginny breathed and looked up at the empty pitch across to the mass of green.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Hermione shook her head as the teams marched single file out into the middle of the pitch. The crowd came alive at the sight of them, cheering and yelling at the tiny versions of their housemates for encouragement, or in the case of the Slytherins, singing something Hermione couldn't distinguish from the loud cheers around her.

Angelina and the Slytherin Captain Montague shook hands and the players all mounted their brooms in a semi-circle on each side around Madam Hooch. The instructor's whistle sounded and fourteen players shot into the sky at alarming speeds, making Hermione dizzy just thinking about it. Ron headed straight for the goal hoops on their side and Harry shot higher, narrowly missing being hit by a Bludger, all within the first ten seconds of the game. Harry always took high ground, Hermione had noted this in the years she had spent watching him while he was on the pitch to make sure he wasn't being cursed like he had once been in first year. Hermione now had to split her attention between him and Ron as well, who was hovering by the Gryffindor hoops tensely.

"And it's Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girls is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me -" Lee Jordan's commentary was cut off by Professor McGonagall.

"Jordan!" the Head of House yelled.

"Just a fun fact, Professor, add a bit of interest - and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's - ouch - been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and - nice Bludger there from George Weasley -"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the player who had just whacked the dark speeding ball into Montague and followed his path around, watching him air high-five Fred from a great distance away and laughed.

"That's a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away -"

The crowd was cheering and the wind was blowing harshly, causing the sound to come in waves as it changed direction slightly and Hermione eagerly followed George around the pitch.

"Spinnet dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger - close call, Alicia - and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?" Lee paused and the noise rose exponentially. A feeling of dread took hold in Hermione's gut as she saw the green and silver crowd on the other side of the pitch rise up in song.

_'Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King._

_Weasley was born in a bin,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our King.'_

"And Alicia passes back to Angelina!" Lee's shouts were obviously in hopes of drowning out the cruel words of the Slytherins. "Come on now, Angelina - looks like she's just got the Keeper to beat! SHE SHOOTS - SHE - aaaaah..."

The Slytherin Keeper saved her shot and threw the Quaffle to Warrington who took off between the other players quickly. The closer he drew to Ron, the louder and more obnoxious the Slytherins became and again the song rang clear through the stands.

_'Weasley is our King,_

_Weasley is our King,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley is our King.'_

Hermione watched in muted horror as Ginny squeezed her hand and Warrington sped towards Ron at breakneck speed.

"And it's Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead -"

Hermione caught sight of Fred and George who seemed to be trying to get a Bludger round to the correct angle to take a swing at Warrington but before they could, the crowd rose up even louder.

_'Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring...'_

"It's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team - come on, Ron!" yelled Lee.

"Oh no," moaned Ginny.

"Come on Ron!" screamed Hermione tightly and the Gryffindors around her were cheering just as loudly for him.

Ron took a dive as Warrington launched the red ball at him and it soared through his arms right through the middle hoop.

"Slytherin score!" Lee called and the crowd booed loudly as the Slytherins rejoiced, at least this time in disarray and not organized singing. "So that's ten-nil to Slytherin - bad luck, Ron - and Gryffindor back in possession and it's Katie Bell tanking up the pitch -" Lee was crying into the microphone.

The Slytherins were wasting no time getting back on track with the chorus and Hermione saw Angelina zoom past Harry, who had been sitting watching the exchange between Warrington and Ron hanging still over the pitch.

_'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,_

_HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,_

_WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,_

_WEASLEY IS OUR KING...'_

Malfoy and Harry were both still circling the pitch, looking this way and that as the other players concerned themselves with their own tasks.

"And it's Warrington again," Lee was hollering into the microphone, "Who passes to Pucey, Pucey's off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him - turns out you can't - but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell - er - drops it too - so that's Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he's off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!"

Hermione watched the players in red and gold try to out-fly the ones in green and silver; Harry was soaring above the game, sweeping the pitch for the tiny golden snitch.

"And Pucey's dodged Alicia again, and he's heading straight for the goal, stop it, Ron!"

The Slytherins went wild with screaming as they got another goal and the rest of the stands groaned collectively. In quick succession, Ron let in two more goals and Hermione's heart plummeted. He was going to be miserable after the game, even more so than if he just had to deal with the song.

"Come on Ron!" Ginny screamed. "Get your head out of your arse!"

"And Katie Bell of Gryffindor dodges Pucey, ducks Montague, nice swerve Katie, and she throws to Johnson, Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle, she's past Warrington, she's heading for goal, come on now Angelina - GRYFFINDOR SCORE! It's forty-ten, forty-ten to Slytherin and Pucey has the Quaffle..."

For the first time since the game started the Gryffindors went wild with cheering and Hermione was sure that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were also large contributors to the raucous noise. Luna's hat let off a chest-rumbling roar and Hermione and Ginny grinned widely, shaking in the chilly wind and clasping each other's hands tightly to keep warm.

"Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey - Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good - I mean bad - Bell's hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it's Pucey in possession again..."

_'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,_

_HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,_

_WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,_

_WEASLEY IS OUR KING.'_

Suddenly Harry was streaking through the air toward the Slytherin goal hoops before he was turning and following after what Hermione presumed was the Snitch.

"Come on, Harry!" Ginny screamed loudly, the crowd drowning her voice as they both leaned forward to watch Harry's progress low over the pitch. He and Malfoy were neck and neck and even after all the games she had watched her friend play, Hermione still didn't know if she should scream or hold her breath so she did a weird combination of both, her screams getting caught in her throat and coming out at random bursting intervals.

In mere seconds, it was all over and Harry pulled his broom up a little, his outstretched arm held high indicating that he had caught it, he had caught the Snitch! They cheered and cheered and hopped up and down in excitement, grins splitting their faces, turning to hug each other and slap the backs of those around them, until a dull whack sounded clearly over the pitch and Harry flew forward off his broom.

"Oh my god!" Hermione screamed. "What happened -"

"It was Crabbe - I'll bloody kill him - that fucking coward -" Ginny was seething as she gripped the safety bar of the stands tightly, leaning over it to get a look at Harry. Hermione craned her neck as well and saw him laying face-up on the hard ground, Angelina speeding to his aid. Madam Hooch's whistle was blaring and it was a scramble down there as she hauled Crabbe off his broom by the ear.

"Oh no," Hermione uttered.

Draco Malfoy's white hair could be seen and Hermione's stomach clenched. That close proximity for Malfoy to Harry was never good when tensions were running high, never ever. Pride bloomed in her chest as she watched Harry turn away from Malfoy's likely taunting words to embrace Katie and Alicia who had landed nearby. They were all approaching Angelina, Fred and George and everyone was shaking hands before turning suddenly and freezing at something Malfoy must have yelled.

Angelina seized one of the twins by the arm and Harry grabbed the other. Harry was big enough to hold one of them back but Katie and Alicia had to help Angelina with the other. Malfoy's head was thrown back in laughter as the redheads tried to get free of their teammates holding them back, but a second later Harry had released the body he was preventing from leaping forward and they were both headed straight for Malfoy.

"Bloody - fucking - Weasleys!" Ginny stomped as she watched before turning tail and heading down the steps of the stands with the other students who were flooding out of the stadium.

"You're one of them!" Hermione called frantically, chasing after her.

"I know! It makes me a pretty good authority on us!" she ranted heatedly and flew down the steps as fast as she could given the other people in the way. The two of them fought through the bodies but by the time they got out onto the pitch, Harry and George had disappeared and Madam Hooch looked ready to hex anyone who even _looked_ like they might have thought about causing a fight.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded, stopping short of Fred who was heaving great breaths into his lungs with force as Alicia and Katie stood nearby and Angelina looked like she was torn between yelling and crying.

"It was Malfoy," Katie supplied with a somber look and Fred clasped his hands behind his neck and paced in small circle.

"I gathered as much," Ginny snapped at her brother expectantly.

"He was talking about mum and dad, Gin, and then he started on Harry's mum -" Fred explained, looking incredibly guilty but also riled up.

"One of these days I'm going to smack that poncey smirk off his slimy face," she huffed in response. "Where are George and Harry?"

"Hooch sent them to McGonagall so I imagine they're getting detention right now," he kicked the ground. "They got in a few good ones before Hooch hexed them apart."

"Where's Ron?" Hermione cast a look around the people on the field, not spotting him anywhere.

"No idea," Alicia said, mirroring her actions. "I thought I saw him slink off to the changing rooms. I imagine he's not feeling so great right now..."

The wind picked up and eventually it became too cold to stand there fuming any longer. The players that remained were making their way back to the changing rooms for hot showers and a change of clothing, and Ginny set off for the castle with Hermione.

"Do you reckon we should head up to McGonagall's office and see how they fared?" Ginny asked quietly as they entered into the relative silence and warmth of the castle.

"I suppose so - they might need help down to the Infirmary," Hermione nodded and the girls made their way up to McGonagall's office in the Transfiguration department.

"I'm thinking more than their faces are going to be hurting. If I know McGonagall, she's not letting them off the hook for this lightly," Ginny commented. "They blatantly brawled, in front of the whole school, too - not that I can't see why. If I had been in their position, I'd've done the very same thing."

"I can't blame you," Hermione agreed, thinking back to when she had hauled off and punch Draco Malfoy in the face in third year. It had been exhilarating, and very satisfying.

The girls stopped outside the familiar office door, leaning up against the wall just to the side of it and listening for any sign of what was going on inside.

"Not another one!" came McGonagall's clear voice and they frowned at each other.

The rest seemed to be murmuring, indistinct with an uncertain ebb and flo. The girls stood silently for a few more minutes, listening intently until the murmuring grew more clear as it drew closer to the door.

"Is that Umbridge?" Ginny asked, aghast.

"...can continue playing, I saw no signs of violence from any of _them_. Well..." her voice was getting louder and more clear. "Good afternoon to you."

The door opened and out stepped Professor Umbridge, a self-satisfied smirk on her face that sent a frisson of anger down Hermione's spine. The awful woman was interfering again, she could see it in her posture, her self-important poise.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Weasley, Ms. Granger," she said happily in a high voice before setting off down the corridor with her pink cloak tugged around her.

"I have a bad feeling about this..." Hermione breathed.

"You and me both," Ginny answered quietly, her eyes wide.

It was a few more long moments before the door opened fully and Harry stepped out into the hall followed closely by George and Professor McGonagall. Harry's knuckles were smeared with blood and his face was set like stone. George had a fat lip, but it hadn't split thankfully. He did look as though he might hit something though.

"If I hear that either of you have stepped another toe out of line, there will be hell to pay. For the love of Merlin, do not make it more difficult for yourselves," the professor hissed at the pair before catching sight of Hermione and Ginny off to the side. "Oh, good. Ms. Granger, would you please escort Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing? He's had another hard smack to the head, though not as hard as it should have been in my opinion -"

"Of course." Hermione flicked her eyes over to George who briefly met her gaze before turning his seething mood to the stone floor.

"And Ms. Weasley, please make sure Mr. Potter gets back to the common room without causing any more problems for himself. He seems rather unable to reign in his temper and I trust you can keep him out of trouble for three floors and few staircases," she snapped.

"I can try," Ginny sighed with a grimace.

"It would be wise to pass this on: stay out of trouble. It is now beyond my ability to circumvent her and it pains me to see my house fall under such punishments. Behave yourselves - as much as you can," she uttered direly and Harry scowled. "Get on with you." The witch's eyes flashed and she turned sharply back for her office, the door snapping shut behind her.

"Right, let's go to the -" Hermione started after a beat of empty silence between the four of them but was interrupted.

"I don't want to go to bloody Hospital Wing," George fumed, flexing his hands tightly.

"Well, you don't have a choice, do you?" Ginny riled back. "You got smacked in the head again and you need to go get sorted by Pomfrey, there's nothing for it."

George grunted and turned, setting off for the small spiral staircase at the end of the hall that would take them down two floors and set them on the second floor closer to the Infirmary.

"See you later," Hermione bid Ginny and Harry goodbye as they turned in the opposite direction and headed back to the Tower while she scurried after George. Wracking her brain for anything to say to him, she settled for following a step behind him as he took the steps down two at a time.

"George!" Hermione panted, pulling her mittens from her hands now that they were hot. He didn't slow or answer her and so she reached for him as they made their way down the empty second floor corridor. "George -"

Before she could even think of the consequences, her fingers brushed his and in a flash he had her wrist grasped in his hand tightly and had whirled around to look at her. They stood stock still in the middle of the second floor, panting at each other.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly, blinking up at him and trying to think of anything but the tingles and warmth that were spreading from where his skin was touching hers.

"We were given a lifetime ban from Quidditch," he struggled to get out and Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, her mind in a whirl.

"She can't _do _that -" she shook her head once and then suddenly George was tugging her wrist closer and she stumbled, dropping her mittens, stumbled right into him. "George, what -" she gasped but he cut her off with his lips. His breathing was heavy and when he pressed his face to hers, the hands that had braced themselves against his chest after he had tugged her, gripped his Quidditch uniform tightly to keep her from falling over.

The new feeling of spreading heat was all over now, running like warm honey up and down her limbs as George's lips slanted over hers again and again, his breath hot on her face. Without even a thought, she knew her lips were responding urgently, pushing back against him and up into him, a tightness in her muscles both relaxing and pulling taut at the same time.

"Banned -" George gasped against her mouth and she shivered at the tone he had taken. He sounded as if he had cracked, but whether it was from the heated kissing or the punishment bestowed upon him minutes ago, she couldn't tell.

All she knew was that she felt like she was burning up, curling up hotly like a bit of parchment thrown into a blazing fire and being consumed in a millisecond.

"She can't - _she can't _ -" Hermione panted and George's arm wrapped around her waist firmly. With stumbling steps and boots bumping into each other, George steered them over to the side of the corridor and whipped them into a convenient alcove, leaving Hermione's breath somewhere behind her.

"Cow -" George uttered lowly, hoarsely, "She's a _fucking cow_ -"

Hermione felt her skin prickle and stand at attention as they were shrouded in semi-darkness. When her jacketed back touched the stone wall, she pulled George closer to her, always closer, and ran her tongue along his lip to feel the swelling from where he must have been hit. George gave a strangled groan that zipped merrily along Hermione's nerve endings and when she opened her mouth to gasp again, George pushed a hand into her hair and held her lips to his.

She didn't know it had started out as relief, relief from the building brain hurr, relief from the tensions between them that had been mounting for weeks, relief from the worry she had held tight to her chest from the game and the fight afterwards. But it morphed as soon as she felt his tongue slip past her lips hotly, to brush along hers not quite forcefully but indeed commandingly. After that breach, it was a battle - a battle of lips and tongues and teeth and shoves and stumbles and grips and tugs - a battle of wills.

In the movement and shuffling around, amidst the breathy groans and half-laughs, George had managed to pry every button of her coat open. She had not noticed even a bit until she felt his hand on her hip through her sweater, tightly gripping her and sliding up, squeezing her flesh deliciously along the way. He was leaning over her, his other forearm braced against the stone wall behind her.

Awareness was seeping coldly back into her mind and Hermione gasped sharply. For a moment she was still going, still pressing into him and writhing and then, as if it was in slow motion, she felt the tip of his thumb brush the underside of her breast and even though three layers of sweater, camisole and bra she felt her skin react and tighten.

Without even a thought, she reacted and placed her hands on his shoulders, shoving him back a step.

In the dim light, he looked horrified with himself. Dishelleved with his ginger hair standing in every direction from her fingers, flushed hotly from their heated gasping and groping, panting quickly from the lack of oxygen. And horrified.

"I'm so sorry," he heaved. "I don't know -"

"What. The bloody hell. Was _that_?"

* * *

**A/N: Eeeee!  
**

**Please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts so far, it would help me out.**

**Cheers!**


	8. Chapter 8

"I - I'm - well, it's hard to explain, really -"

"Well, start from the beginning!" Hermione seethed and pulled her jumper straight again as George raised his hands to run through his mussed hair. "That look on your face proves that I was right; you know more than you're letting on!"

"Merlin - I'm not sure! I'm not sure what's wrong - I've - _uuuurgh_!" George growled in frustration, turning away from the sight of her and exiting the alcove into the cool corridor. Hermione stomped out after him and bent down to snatch her forgotten mittens from the hall runner, an insignificant bit of evidence of what had just gone down four feet away.

Whatever he had done - he was running with the assumption now that he _had_ done something - he was discovering its particular brand of torture. If he was not near her, confusion clouded his mind from dawn until dusk and it only got worse the longer he was away from her. If he was near her - and indeed touching her - it cleared his mind fog right up but then caused his _body_ to be distracted to the point of madness and pulling away had been toeing the line between delightfully pleasurable and deliciously painful. It was a delicate balance - one he was not sure he could manage and come out the other side sane.

"What exactly have you done?" Hermione asked, dangerously quiet.

George sighed and composed himself before turning to face her again. She was not going to like this. Not one bit.

Hermione was standing in the middle of the hall with her feet shoulder width apart and her hands on her hips, looking every bit both an angry, slighted woman and a teenage girl who had just had the daylights kissed out of her.

She was glorious, and George shook his head to disperse the distracting thoughts. Thoughts of how her hair had felt as he'd mussed it up on one side, how she had mewled into him as his hands worked of their own accord to get her coat open, how her mouth had opened so willingly at the merest suggestion from his, the sweet hot taste of her that was lingering on his tongue even now, how she had used every opportunity to get closer to him, always closer -

George took a step toward to her, and Hermione took a step back.

"You stay _right there_, and you tell me what's happened," she raised a hand and pointed a finger at the ground where he was standing.

"I can't... I can't concentrate -"

"Well, neither can I, but I have every belief now that _that_ has everything to do with whatever - whatever _this_ is!" Hermione gestured wildly to the space between them, a mere three of four metres in actuality that felt more like three of four light-years at this point.

"I think so," George started, sighing and looking up at the vaulted stone ceiling. "I'm not sure, I've been reading over everything but I can't figure out what exactly -"

"Get to the bloody point, George!" Hermione growled, her teeth clenched in anger.

Well, that answered the question of whether or not the spell had touched that particular emotion for her. George was going to go with 'no, not in the least'.

"You were just so mad..." he dropped his gaze down to look at her, ready this time to reign in the urge to step closer, to reach out, to do anything to get nearer to her, always closer -

"What?" she asked sharply, huffing.

"At the beginning of the year, you were so mad at us for testing on first and second years - anyone, really, who responded to the ad on the notice board -"

"For _good_ reason! They're just first years, who have no idea what a good decision is, what's safe and what's not, and I'm a _prefect_, George, I can't just stand by and _let_ you two do those sorts of things! It's not what I've been trusted to do!" Hermione threw at him.

"We just wanted you to lighten up! We test all of those things on ourselves multiple times before even _thinking_ about running trails to ensure the same reaction in all participants. Who are _paid_, by the way, and informed of the risks!" George raised his voice, knowing that this was not a good idea, to escalate things.

"Well, you and I will just have to agree to disagree on _that _because there is no way that batch of first years with the Fainting Fancies knew what was going to happen to them when you gave them those sweets!" Hermione's face was red and flyaways were floating around her head as she swayed back and forth under the conviction with which she spoke.

"_Uuurgh_ \- I wish you would stop making me sound like such a bloody tosser! I'm not a slimy Slytherin out to screw people over for my own benefit, Granger!" George's hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. How could she think those things about him? Did she really think he was that horrible of a person?

"I never said you were, George! Those are your own words, not mine - stop putting them into my mouth and tell me what you did to me!" her voice rang out and George felt guilt unfurl in his chest, aching like intense cold freezing his blood and weighing him down.

"We went and found a spell - one that would just take the edge off your screaming and threatening -" he paused, taking a breath and looking at her hesitantly.

Hermione said nothing but her breathing that had just been heavy and heaving was now shallow and almost non-existent. Her lips opened - lips he had just been devouring a moment ago - just a fraction of in inch, but he could tell she was in shock.

Whose bloody idea had it been anyway?

It didn't even matter now. What was done was done.

"So I used it - _but something must have gone wrong_ \- because it didn't say anything about these - _things_ -" he mirrored her earlier actions and motioned vaguely to the space between them. "It never said - well, it just said that it would help mellow you out over time and that it would wear off in about six months..."

George's continued explanation had sparked something in her again and her breathing was becoming more laboured as she stood stock still. She looked like she was preventing herself from opening her mouth until she had gotten her head around what he was saying to her.

Moments of silence turned into minutes and she was staring at him so hard, so hard he was sure she was boring a hole right through him and hacking into the tapestry on the wall behind him with her mind. When Hermione finally did move, George realised that she had not been staring directly at his eyes but that she had been focused on the bridge of his nose intently for the last two or three minutes. Her gaze shifted to his, just a minute change, and his chest constricted.

Hermione Granger was so mad at him that she was speechless.

"Here's what's going to happen," she startled him by opening her mouth and uttering her carefully chosen words in such a precisely enunciated fashion that he felt every single one of them like a slice to his gut. "We are going to go down to the Hospital Wing like McGonagall told us to, you will have Madam Pomfrey have a look at your head to make sure you're not concussed, and then we will go back to Gryffindor Tower."

George made to huff at her for being so authoritative with him but she silenced his half-formed complaints with a look.

"I will accompany you there and back, and when we return to the common room, you're going to fetch me that book and point out exactly what you did to me. I don't know what's going on here but we both know that being near one another and touching helps somehow, but that does _not_ mean you have permission to touch me. If you so much as lay a finger on me, I will scream the castle to the ground. Understand?" her eyes blazed and for the first time, her words revealed another side of the anger.

She was hurt. He had hurt her. George nodded mutely and felt his cheeks tinge pink with shame.

"And lastly, if you know what's good for you, you won't talk to me right now," she finished, tearing her eyes away from his with a few rapid blinks. Through that last sentence, it had become increasingly obvious that her emotions other than anger were beginning to come back to her and George could hear the sound at the back of her nose, the one that Ginny got right before she started crying.

"Hermione, I'm -" George floundered. He had been angry at Umbridge, angry at himself, and then they were battling against each other with fire, and then with words, and how had all of that happened in less than ten minutes, leaving them where they were now?

"Don't."

It wasn't a request and George closed his mouth.

* * *

The next morning was harsh and cold and George rose to the discovery that the castle had seen two feet of snow between the moment he'd thrown himself into bed without so much as a word to Fred or Lee and the moment he opened his eyes to Sunday.

After Hermione had spelled out for him exactly what was going to happen after their encounter, things had been painfully silent between them. Hermione and George had never been particularly close; she had always been his little brother and sister's best friend who came and stayed sometimes over the holidays. Even now, before the beginning of term after spending essentially all summer locked up in Grimmauld Place with her, they weren't overly friendly. If they found themselves at all in each other's company, they were capable of making conversation and finding something of common interest between them, but he knew that she didn't approve of his and Fred's attitudes about school and their predisposition for causing trouble.

But at least they had been a step up from merely civil.

Things were completely different now.

Hermione had walked with him back to the common room, putting as much space between them as she could manage in the halls and staircases, and didn't utter one single word to him the entire trip. Even in the Infirmary while Pomfrey was looking at his head and scolding him for getting knocked around a bit, she'd said absolutely nothing and remained completely stoic.

Stepping up into the common room had been a little harder than George had anticipated. Hermione had headed straight for the fire where the majority of the people who had witnessed the brawl from earlier up close were seated.

"Banned," Angelina had voice numbly, and George's heart sunk again. "_Banned._ No Seeker, no Beaters... What on earth are we going to do?"

George had climbed the stairs to him dorm and rummaged around for the book, pulling a scrap of parchment from his side table and scribbling the name of the spell on it for her. Sticking it like a bookmark into the correct page for her reference, he had showered and changed quickly so that he could go back down and give it to Hermione.

By the time he'd walked back over silently, Angelina was leaving. Mutely, George had handed Hermione the book and sat down in the spot Angie had just vacated. Fred's eyes had flicked up to him questioning, before widening a fraction in realization.

"I'm going to bed. Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream... Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet..." Angelina trailed off as she retreated.

Alicia and Katie had followed soon after, leaving Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Fred and Lee around the fire quietly. At this point, Hermione was already sifting through the section about the spell, distracted, but she had looked up suddenly.

"Have you seen Ron?" she'd asked lowly.

Harry and Ginny both shook their heads.

"I think he's avoiding us. Where do you think he -?"

The portrait had creaked open and in shuffled Ron, looking particularly distraught with snow in his hair.

"Where have you been?" Hermione had asked quickly.

"Walking," Ron had mumbled in response, casting a glance around at the small group.

"You look frozen, come sit down!" she had sprung up from her seat nearest the fire and let him have it. Pulling her discarded coat from the back of it, she'd sat down on the floor using it as a cushion even though there had been an open seat next to George on the sofa. Fred and Lee had tossed him another glance when they saw the same thing and George had remained blank-faced.

He could tell that Hermione and him had silently agreed not to speak about this thing between them, in the very least until they'd figured out what to do about it.

"I'm sorry," Ron had mumbled to his feet and Harry had looked at him sharply from his own chair across the far end of the table.

"What for?"

"For thinking I can play Quidditch," replied Ron. "I'm going to resign first thing tomorrow."

"If you resign," Harry had said, casting a short glance to Fred and George, "there'll only be three players left on the team."

Ron had looked up, startled.

"I've been given a lifetime ban. So've Fred and George," he had clarified.

"What?" Ron had burst out.

Hermione had jumped in and reiterated the whole story to Ron, for Harry had already recounted it enough times and George had been despondent over... well, everything. And Fred had been giving George and Hermione concerned looks, having finally caught on that something must have happened, and that _something _had proved that they had been idiots to try and tame her anger. Before Hermione had even finished her explanation, George'd bid them a quiet goodnight and retreated back up the steps to the dorms in the hopes that a good night's sleep would brighten his mood.

Now, with the fresh snow, Fred and Lee had dragged him outside amongst the other winter enthusiasts to either work him out of his funk or get out of him what had happened between him and Granger the night before. Eventually, they had reached a point where George let himself relax a little and crack a grin, still refusing to elaborate on the situation beyond "we had a fight and I told her about the spell".

As far as George was concerned, he had already botched a spell that he had cast on Hermione against her will, and he wasn't about to then betray her trust further by telling every detail of their heated encounter the afternoon previous.

Just before midday, Fred and George managed to convince Lee to help them charm a pile of snowballs to fly up and smack against the Gryffindor common room windows. They knew full well that Ron and Harry were still up there doing work, no sign of Hermione anywhere.

"Oi!" Ron called down to them eventually. "I am a prefect and if one more snowball hits this window - OUCH!"

Fred and Lee cackled loudly as Ron's head disappeared again after being pelted with a particularly large snowball and didn't emerge again after that. Shortly after their stomachs started growling for lunch, George spotted Hermione's form covered in heavy winter robes trekking up from the direction of Hagrid's hut through the knee-high snow and he slowed to a stop to watch her progress.

George felt Fred and Lee exchange looks beside him when they followed his line of sight to Hermione. As if she felt his eyes burning into the side of her head, she looked over to where the three of them were standing on the gentle slope of the grounds not too far from the Entrance Hall. Hermione's hard gaze found him immediately and he froze perfectly still under her scrutiny. Before he knew it, she was casting her eyes back to her feet as she stepped through the snow and disappeared around the stone archway.

"I think he's gone barmy," Lee hissed to Fred as they both watched George raise a hand to his head. Unbeknownst to them, his scalp had tingled; the precise spot where the pad of her index finger had brushed just a few days ago, and he scratched it lightly, hoping it would go away.

* * *

The Friday evening two weeks later found Fred and George in the library, Lee having finally scored a date with Alicia Spinnet and, regardless of his commentary at the last match about waiting on Angelina Johnson, everyone knew he actually fancied Alicia. Besides that, Angelina and Fred were somewhat of an item already, leaving no room for Lee in the relationship.

"So any news?" Fred prompted after half an hour of silence between the two. "The Granger business?"

"Oh," George looked up briefly, just a flick of his eyes. "No. She, uhm - she's got the book and I suppose she'll speak to me when she's had a chance to form some theories, you know, _Granger _it out."

"Did you just use my family name as a verb?"

Both ginger boys turned at the sound of her voice and Fred cracked a large grin.

"I believe he did, _Granger_," his twin drawled, still smiling.

Hermione closed the last few steps between herself and the table they were working at, setting the book George had given her down with a thump on top of his Herbology diagram he was in the middle of sketching. Tension melted from his shoulder and from his mind as she stood there, two feet from him, talking civilly around him. She had obviously finished classes and changed into some muggle clothing at the earliest opportunity for she was now wearing some faded jeans that fit her especially well and a long blue jumper, the wrist openings of which she was fiddling with.

The last thirteen days had been torture. She would try to avoid him, but inevitably there were instances that required them to be in the same general area and interact in minor ways. Hermione was never hostile - a blessing if he ever saw one - but as soon as she spotted him, she would clam up and not open her mouth again until after he had left. Tuesday had seemed to be a pretty miserable day for her because she looked to be on the verge of tears for most of the afternoon and evening. Guilt had twisted in George's gut awfully until Harry had pointed out that Umbridge had come to inspect Hagrid's classes, now that he was back from his Order mission, and had been particularly cruel in her manner. It was not a surprise, considering her previous actions, but the brown-haired witch had taken it poorly, her sense of loyalty and need to stand up for others making tears of frustration spring to her eyes for the rest of the day.

"May I sit?" she asked lightly, concise.

"Of course," George answered and Fred watched the exchange with careful eyes. Hermione made her way around and sat to Fred's left, kitty corner to George. Essentially as far away from him as she could get without sitting at another table.

"I've read the book, twice. And I read the suggested additional reading list at the end, and I still can't figure out what exactly..." she trailed off, looking up at George through her eyelashes and then back down to her clasped hands sitting in her lap. Listening closely, he could pick up the faint sound of the toe of her sneaker tapping the rug beneath the table.

"Ah - Granger - Now don't let the next minute or two skew your perception of my character," Fred started, rounding on her. "But I haven't really had the chance to speak with you since... well, you know... since after the Quidditch match, at least not looking like you might murder me if I speak to you -"

"Don't be so sure I won't now," Hermione quipped and Fred paused for a moment before realizing she was yanking his chain and smiling again.

"Anyway, I'm - I'm really sorry. About all of this. We were complete idiots, wankers, total tossers to even consider what we considered - and - yeah. I'm just sorry," Fred stammered, as unsure in his words as George had ever seen him as Hermione regarded him carefully from her chair next to his.

"While an apology makes me feel a little better, I'd much rather you help figure out how to reverse it," she spoke clearly. "The text doesn't mention any counter-charm what-so-ever, which makes me think that one doesn't exist. Which makes me very angry."

George felt his lips twitch upward before he schooled his expression neutral again.

"Any brilliant ideas of where to start, Granger?" George asked quietly and she fixed him with a hard look. Well, no talking still, then. She cleared her throat.

"I think the first place to start is getting our hands on the newest version of this book; maybe it'll have an update, one with a reversal spell," Hermione proposed and both twins nodded.

"Right, we'll send off for it and have it delivered to you," Fred pulled a spare piece of parchment towards himself and dipped his quill in ink, scribbling a quick note to send to Flourish and Blott's.

"And just to be clear," she spoke again, "I think it's best not to tell anyone else - you know, other students or... Or teachers. At least until we have a better idea of what this is."

* * *

"Oi!"

Fred and George turned, finding Ron striding purposefully towards them with a dark look on his face.

"What?" Fred demanded, taking an immediate defensive.

"Not you," Ron said dismissively. "Him."

"Me?" George asked, bewildered. "Look, I haven't done anything so if you're here to tell me off or give me detention, you can just bugger off, Ron, because I don't need your -"

"Don't get shirty with me!" Ron stopped before them. "I've got a good reason to be -"

"Well, then spit it out. We don't have all day, you know. Time is money, little brother," Fred interjected.

"Fine," Ron huffed. "I saw you." He fixed George again with a hard look and George's heart stopped.

Full on stopped.

"What?" he shook his head, confused, and hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

"After the game, I saw you. You and _Hermione_," Ron stressed. "What did you do?"

Oh bugger. Buggering _shit_.

The twins remained silent for a moment, Fred not entirely sure what had happened in the first place, and both of them contemplating how exactly to respond.

"Well, she - she was -" George started.

"Look, I don't know what you did to piss her off so badly, but it doesn't really matter. She's my friend, George, and you really need to stop trying to get a rise out of her. There's something going on with her, and she doesn't need you on her arse, parading around the fact that you break school rules so casually right under her nose," Ron spewed all at once, red in the face. It all came tumbling out like he hadn't much thought of what he was going to say before he had come calling after them.

"I didn't know you cared so much, Ronnie," George blinked, trying to wrap his head around the situation. So... he had seen him and Hermione in the second floor corridor, but if he had seen them kissing each other ferociously, he would definitely have opened with that, surely, and maybe even included a sucker punch to the gut. All of that combined with the fact that it had been over a week since the game led George to conclude that he had only witnessed part of their _fight_.

"Normally, I'd just let her sort you out herself, but when it's you guys, she nags me about it even more and I really don't want to hear any more about how many 'regulations you've disregarded' in the last week alone," Ron sighed. "So for the love of Merlin, fix whatever it is you've done, right? And then just steer well clear of her."

Ron left quickly after he finished and they had given him tacitum nods of understanding, sharing a look as he departed.

* * *

The twins wandered into the Great Hall slowly on Monday morning, yawning and stretching at the early start that proved to be even colder than last week. It was min-November, just over a month until winter hols, and both of them were looking forward to getting back to the Burrow in order to get their hands on some supplies that they had been forced to leave there due to not having enough room in their trunks.

They had laid out a plan for the next month of term, one that allotted enough time to conduct a few last trails between classes and D.A. meetings. Quidditch wasn't a time drain anymore, as upsetting as that fact was, but that did leave more time to work on their joke shop merchandise.

One of the changes that George and Hermione had made from the moment they had both become fully aware of the fact that George had cast a spell on Hermione and proximity to each other was clearly an effector, was to casually sit closer than they had done in the past.

For example, over the weekend, George suggested a trip to the library to do homework with Fred, Lee, Angelina and Alicia. The girls had looked at him peculiarly but agreed that it was a good idea. Thankfully, he didn't think they'd noticed that he chose a table just two away from Hermione, who was diligently scribbling on a blank scroll.

The next day, Hermione had come back to the common room while the boys were out for Quidditch practice and sat on the same couch as George, albeit at the opposite end. She still wasn't speaking a lot, and she had just used the time to set her knitting needles clacking beside her and read a novel while swathed in an overlarge jumper.

Given these instances, George took a chance and sat across the breakfast table from the little witch. Hermione's eyes flicked up as she registered movement that wasn't Ron at her side shovelling food into his mouth at a remarkable speed. Silently, he asked for permission and relief flooded his extremities when she gave the most imperceptible nod of approval.

"Good morning, you lot," Fred greeted everyone loudly. "How are you this fine morning? Potter? Finnegan? Granger?"

Harry had his forehead flat on the table and grunted in response and Seamus flashed him a nasty hand gesture.

"I'm well, thank you, Fred. Yourself?" Hermione went back to her paper, absently sipping her tea. George had noticed over the last few days that when he was near, her body seemed to ease some of the tenseness, but in contrast her eyes were more guarded. He knew that the muscle tiredness was like though, as he experienced it himself.

As soon as Hermione walked into the room he was in, he felt his body's tensions melt just a bit and her presence also seemed to help clear some mental space as well. Usually he had about a million thoughts all ricocheting around in there, and since the spell they had felt like they were bouncing around in honey or molasses instead of air. At least when she was close by, thoughts seemed to travel unimpeded.

"Just smashing, Granger. You look delightful - have you done something with your hair?" his twin continued and he sighed. He could have just left it at good morning, but no.

"You should eat breakfast before it disappears," she droned monotonously, ignoring his poking and prodding completely.

"Post arrived yet?" George opened his mouth for the first time and she looked up, realization dawning on her features. The book would likely arrive this morning from Flourish and Blott's.

"Not yet," Ron answered.

"Any minute now," Fred commented jovially, having bounced back from Hermione's disreagard.

And just as he finished saying it, owls start pouring into the Great Hall and swooping down to deliver letters and packages from family and friends outside of the castle. Fred, George and Hermione all cast their gazes up, searching for an unfamiliar owl that might be carrying a book-shaped package in their direction. After a few moments of anxious searching, one did swoop down and drop something in Hermione's lap.

"What's that?" Ron asked, mouth half full.

"I ordered a book for some background research," Hermione answered instinctively. Not entirely a lie.

"And the library didn't have it?" Harry asked with a snort.

"I wanted the newest edition," Hermione snapped. Very much the truth.

"'Ow differen' coo' deybee?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food but Hermione flapped her hand a little at him and cracked the new cover of the book open crisply. George's stomach was in his throat as he slowed his eating and watched her run a finger down the index to confirm the page she needed and then flip through the pages. He nearly laughed because she started out a bit frantically before realizing that she was in front of a whole hall full of breakfasters, and forced herself to slow down and act more casual.

Fred thumped him on the back lightly, which jolted George out of his intense concentration on Hermione and he bemusedly noted that he had stopped breathing in anticipation of whatever the book cited. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.

Bending her head over the appropriate page, Hermione's lips moved infinitesimally as she read through the relatively short section on the Delinio Temperantia Charm and its practical uses. She leaned closer and slowed down.

Quickly, out of the blue, Hermione slammed the book shut and bent to pick up her school bag, hauling it on to her shoulder as she stood abruptly and began to make her way down the table to the doors of the Great Hall.

"'Ermione-" Ron called half-heartedly, but George had caught the tiniest glimmer of tears gathering on her waterline. That did not bode well.

Fred elbowed him and nodded after her and George hopped up quickly, keeping his eyes on her back and trying not to think of all the eyes following their forms out into the Entrance Hall. Hermione was marching determinedly in the direction of the closest girls' lavatory but luckily George's legs were much longer and he caught up to her with very little effort.

"Hermione!" he called and to his frustration, his voice seemed to spur her on faster, her steps taking on a ferocious quality. "Hermione, wait!"

George reached out and had barely touched her shoulder before she threw herself into the washroom with a strangled noise. Completely disregarding the unspoken rules of lavatory gender separation, George barged through after her, her voice halting him instantly. Her words sounded like they were being ripped from her throat, her tone expressing... He didn't know the words for it but he knew what it felt like, and it hurt him to hear the effect of what he had done in her voice.

"Don't touch me! Don't you come _any _closer!"

* * *

**A/N: There we are! Was the argument at the beginning heart-rending enough for you?  
**

**Thank you all for the follows and favourites and reviews, I appreciate every single one of them.**

**We're starting to really get into here, so please leave your thoughts for me in a review!**

**Cheers**


	9. Chapter 9

"Don't touch me! Don't you come _any _closer!"

Hermione's vision blurred hotly with tears as she stepped backwards away from George until her backside touched the porcelain sink against the wall. She tried to blink the tears away but there were too many and they spilled over onto her cheeks. Quickly wiping them away with her fingers, George came back into focus and the broken-hearted and guilt-ridden look on his face made her chest constrict tightly.

No! He had done this, and she wasn't going to tell him things like "it's alright", "we'll figure out a way", and "it's not as bad as it seems" in order to make him feel better about what he'd done.

Because it wasn't okay! It wasn't okay at all. He had cast a spell on her _without _her knowledge or permission, a spell that effected both her mind and her body, a spell that made her want to be close to him, made her yearn to kiss him again, a spell that made her keen at the thought of feeling just an innocent patch of his skin on hers.

It was premeditated and manipulative. And despite the fact that he hadn't intended to effect her _this_ way, he had still known that it would effect her mind, something she prized above everything else.

As a result, she didn't trust herself. She _couldn't _trust herself. And the that thought was crippling.

Sure, she could still trust her brain to know that the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 had used the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade for its wizard headquarters, that Hinkypunks have one leg and not two, and that the Homorphus Charm Gilderoy Lockhart insisted was of his own invention and quite complex wasn't _actually _a real spell.

But trusting her mind with anything more than simple fact recall - and sometimes even _that_ was difficult due to the distraction clouding her judgement - now that he had fiddled with it? She felt like a stranger in her own head sometimes, and that was incredibly disconcerting.

"Hermione, I'm _so_ sorry -" he spoke after a minute of her silence.

"It says in here -" Hermione wrenched her bag open and pulled the book out, pelting it at him with as much force as she could muster and wiping more tears away, "that there's no reversal, and that the spell must be given due consideration by a committee before being used in the medical industry! _A committee!_ A whole group of people sit and debate about using it before it's administered as medical means to calm anger linked with outbursts of harmful accidental magic! It's a '_dire circumstances, last resort_' sort of spell, George, not a '_why won't she just let us break the rules in peace?_' sort of spell!"

George caught it awkwardly and held it limply in his hand as she yelled at him from across the echo-y stone chamber.

She knew she was right. There wasn't even anything he could say in his defence, because she was right. It had been a horrible decision, ill-advised, and she hoped he regretted it fiercely.

"You're right - _of course you're right_ -" George pleaded with her, as if he had read her mind. "But please, let me help - with whatever you want, anything."

"You were supposed to be my _friend_," Hermione's voice cracked. "Friends don't do these sorts of things to each other."

The result of her words was instantaneous. George's face crumpled and he looked like he was in pain. Her words were harsh, but very true. Friends _didn't_ do what he had done to her.

Hermione had been so caught up in her rant that she hadn't realized that she was trembling with adrenaline and she clasped her hands together. She had never really been the sort to just cry whenever she was upset; her mother had always said that getting upset and blubbering about whatever it was for too long was counterproductive, however she was quickly realizing that she was far too upset about this to simply stop crying. To her credit she wasn't sobbing hysterically, but the tears were not stopping, no matter how she tried to get a handle on them.

"I don't know - I don't know how else to apologize, and I know that doesn't make it better, believe me. And I really don't expect you to forgive me; what I did was..."

"Reprehensible," Hermione supplied with a somewhat steadier voice.

"Yes, that," George breathed, his eyes downcast and his shoulders tight. Hermione could see him blaming himself.

But her mother was right; they would need to find some sort of solution and so she would have to try and get better. He was clearly upset with himself over the whole thing and willing to do whatever she asked to try and make it easier for her, he'd just about said as much.

If she could just think clearly, maybe an answer would present itself. A little relief - but that would mean...

Hermione took a slow deep breath and stepped toward him. Her movement caught his attention immediately and his head snapped up as she continued, her footsteps reverberating around the bathroom. As she drew nearer, she met George's gaze and there was the faintest glimmer of hope there that hadn't been there a few minutes ago when she had been yelling at him and crying.

"This isn't easy for me," Hermione said earnestly, noting with relief that the symptoms she now associated with the spell were lessening considerably the closer she drew to him. George was looking at her with wide eyes, disbelieving eyes, and she dropped her bag from her shoulder. The heavy thud of it seemed too loud for the space, even though she had just been yelling and she had certainly been louder and more shrill.

"What are you doing?" George asked quietly, unsure.

"And it doesn't mean I've forgiven you," she answered vaguely, taking the final step in order to draw even with him. Hermione took and deep breath and reassured herself that this was the right thing to do. It would help them both clear their minds and hopefully give her the exactitude to make some decisions regarding their situation.

Moving slowly, Hermione leaned forward and laid her head on George's chest, sliding her arms around his waist and clasping them together behind him.

The relief was immediate.

Hermione hadn't realized that her trembling was only a surface manifestation from the adrenaline, but when George unfroze and wrapped his arms loosely around her shoulders, an inner vibrating also ceased. Now that it was gone, she didn't see how she had missed it. The parts touching each other were clothed, but still the effect was remarkable.

Hermione found her temper calmed even more, her heartbeat slowed to a normal rate and her mind stopped simply racing for the sake of it. She felt more like the Hermione she was used to and she sighed in happiness for the brief reprieve.

George shifted a bit and Hermione felt his chin settle on the crown of her head.

"We're going to have to talk about this and figure out what went wrong," Hermione whispered.

"While I agree, I think right now might not be the time. If I don't leave in the next two minutes, I'll be late for Herbology and Fred and I've agreed not to tick off teachers as much as we normally do," George answered and Hermione felt his voice reverberate in his chest.

Hermione pulled her head off his shoulder and raised her face to give him a surprised look.

"Oh my gosh, how did I forget? I have History - I'm going to be late!" she pulled away from George, noticing immediately the loss of warmth that was a combination of body heat and whatever magic there was in a touch between them these days.

"You're not going to be late," George laughed, and Hermione noted that it was the first time she had heard him laugh in weeks, since the day he had been banned from Quidditch and they had briefly ravished each other in the second floor corridor. "Bin's classroom is just around the corner - and hey! The girls' toilets are a lot nicer than the boys'!"

Hermione bent to pick up her bag and close it, shouldering it in order to dash out of the bathroom and around to the History classroom as fast as possible. George adjusted his bag at his side and tucked the book into it and Hermione turned for the door.

"Let me just check the corridor - you're in the girls' loo, after all," she commented and George snorted.

"This is hardly the first girls' bathroom I've been in."

"Why doesn't that surprise me more?" Hermione murmured and peeked out. "The coast is clear."

They dashed out and George immediately settled into his easy stride at her side and the two of them made quick work of the short distance to the Entrance Hall. Pausing, they looked at one another and Hermione raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"Well, uhm... see you later?" George offered, giving her an awkward half-smirk.

"This is odd," Hermione gave a nervous little laugh, feeling it bubble up quickly.

"Yeah, it is. But we'll, ah, figure it out later sometime," George nodded with finality. "See you, Granger! Can't be late, or I'll have some prefect nagging me!" He took off for the front doors and disappeared around the edge of the carved stone archway.

"Bye, George!" Hermione called uncertainly, his joking tone sounding more like his usual self. Not daring to stand still for a moment longer, Hermione hurried around the corner into the corridor opposite the one they had just come out of and made her way quickly into the History of Magic classroom to find Harry and Ron already there.

"Oi, where did you run off to?" Ron hissed as she slid into the seat next to him, pink cheeked.

"Library," Hermione breathed a response.

* * *

The simple hug Hermione had shared with George had done wonders for her concentration throughout the day and by the time dinner arrived, she was in quite a good mood because of her ability to be extremely productive. It was, of course, the busiest day of her class schedule and she quickly realised that they would probably have to work out ways to steal some form of closeness on a regular basis so that they could both concentrate. She was sure that George was experiencing the exact same thing, and was aware of the benefits by now.

"...since we've got that star chart for Professor Sinistra due this week," Harry said. "Hermione?"

"Pardon?" Hermione looked up from her plate, surprised that she hadn't heard him speaking her earlier.

"I said 'we should probably head up to the Astronomy Tower since we've got those star charts for Professor Sinistra due this week'. You can't have forgotten," Harry laughed.

"Oh, no. I haven't. I'm done mine already," she responded. "I couldn't sleep one night last week and it was clear out so I decided to get it done then."

"Of course you did," sighed Ron. "Now what'll we do?"

"Do them yourselves, I imagine," quipped Hermione. "We have rounds tomorrow, don't forget, so you'd better get it done tonight if you want to sleep at all tomorrow."

"Urgh," Ron complained.

"I'm going to head to the library and get a head start on that assignment for Invigoration Draughts," Hermione mentioned absently.

"We've only _just_ been assigned that," Ron stated.

"Yes, I'm aware," Hermione frowned at him. "_Some_ of us don't always need to wait until the last minute to do our homework."

"Just drop it, Ron, you know she's right," Harry sighed. "Let's go and get this over with. See you later, Hermione."

The boys left, Ron still grumbling and Harry looking like he wanted to thump him and Hermione finished her supper idly. The mashed potatoes were making their way around her plate slowly and at this point she had stopped picking at it and was now playing with it. Sighing, she pushed her plate away from her and it disappeared to the kitchens.

Perhaps a trip to the library was in order anyhow. Eighteen inches on the proper preparation of the ingredients for an Invigorating Draught shouldn't take too long.

* * *

The air changed.

The library had been as it usually was; quiet, a bit musty, slow, and suddenly something zipped through and changed everything.

George looked up, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with a mysterious feeling he couldn't quite seem to place his finger on.

"Georgie?" Fred asked with a puzzled look on his face. He had looked up when George had moved suddenly from his position bent over his text and his forehead in his hands as he skimmed yet another book that might be helpful to his and Hermione's situation.

"Mmm?"

"What's up?"

"I dunno," George looked around absently and before going back to his book.

"Are you sure?" Fred pressed, and George looked up at him. Curiously, Fred was giving him a shrewd look and then nodded over his shoulder. When George looked back, he saw Granger headed straight down the stacks toward them. "Things are starting to get uncanny, and I'm thinking you should explain exactly what's going on one of these days."

"Maybe later, Freddie," George mumbled, still gazing at her. Hermione's face was neutral, and that was better than her being furious; he would take that over brassed off Granger any day.

"You want me to clear off?" Fred asked, with no underlying lilt in his voice for once.

"No, no need," George answered quickly before Hermione was within earshot. He suppressed a shiver that rippled down his spine as she drew up to the their table abruptly. "Granger."

"Hello," she said. "May I sit?"

"I was just leaving," Fred spoke up, packing up his stuff at lightening speed. "Meeting Angelina in the fourth floor corridor -" he waggled his eyebrows at Hermione and she snorted.

"If you're sure," she set her bag down on the table. "You don't need to leave on _my _account."

"Hardly, Granger," Fred stood. "Until we meet again, fair lady -" he gave her a deep bow - "and try not to be too much of a tosser, Georgie." With a wink, he was gone.

George watched as Hermione set herself to the task of pulling out what she needed for why ever she had ventured to the library to begin with. She didn't once raise her eyes to meet his and, deciding this was on purpose, he went back to his work.

* * *

"You look tired."

It was true. Granger looked like a walking inferi. She was pale and lethargic and in general, looked like she needed a good sleep. Perhaps a short coma even.

"Thanks," she sighed. Hermione flicked her eyes up to George who was not feeling the greatest either.

They hadn't really spoken in any detail about coming up with a plan to keep themselves sane in regards to the spell, and George thought it ought to be her, considering he had been the one to force her into this situation and she was just doing what she could to get by. He would wait for her to say something to him, to tell him she needed another hug to clear her head.

But she hadn't said a single thing on it. She continued sitting nearby whenever possible, while trying not to draw any unwanted attention to them. George was starting to get the feeling she was suffering quite a lot from this and wasn't speaking up, thereby making things harder on herself than they needed to be.

He felt like she looked. He hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, and he was constantly trying to focus his attention in class and when doing schoolwork. Concentrating felt like it took four or five times the effort it once had and that in itself was tiring enough.

On top of that, he couldn't seem to get warm no matter how many hot showers he took to try and keep his toes from feeling like they were going to get frostbite.

"Alright, let me just throw something out there," George started. Perhaps she didn't realize that he was dealing with similar consequences. "Can't settle at night, tired, can't concentrate, can't get warm, pale as a ghost.."

"Restless, anxious..." Hermione nodded to him from across the table. Silence fell between them as they gazed at each other quietly, and George wondered if he ought to open up the option for the conversation for her seeing as she didn't seem motivated too, regardless of the bags under her eyes.

"You think we should talk about this?" he suggested, trying to keep his voice even.

Hermione remained silent, just looking back and forth between his eyes, searching.

He still remembered last Monday in the girls' loo vividly as she had stepped close enough for him to really study her irises. He wished now that she would let him help her and give her back a little peace of mind, and perhaps bring a little life back to her gaze. Her utter tiredness had dulled them considerably. The top of her head had fit so perfectly under his chin, she had been so warm, warmth he craved now that he couldn't retain any heat - his body begged for it - closer, always closer -

"I suppose," she replied quietly. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, I - It's up to you, Hermione," George gave a helpless shrug.

"You're dealing with the same symptoms, it seems," she stated factually and he remained quiet so that she could think it through in whatever way she usually did. "And we still haven't come up with a plan, really. And I did say we should."

George was quite sure that she was coming to her own conclusion about what to do, and the thought made his head spin. The possibility of relief was maddening at the best of times.

"I can't think here," Hermione sighed and lowered her head to the table.

"Erm..." George debated reaching out for her hand and stopped himself. "Maybe we should go back to the common room? It's Friday, I bet there's no one there... I don't know about you but I'm bloody frigid right now," he left it open for her to decide.

"I suppose..." she responded. "I'm done everything for tomorrow..."

"Yeah, let's not spend forever debating this - I'm getting frostbite as we speak," he huffed out a laugh. They quickly gathered their things and left the library. They had been there so often in the last week, George was positive a night off would do both of them some good. And hopefully Hermione would decide to offer them both some relief.

"I'll be down in a minute," she said quietly and disappeared up the stairs to the girls' rooms quickly without a glance backwards.

George settled into the corner seat of the sofa in front of the fire, feeling the blaze heat his skin delightfully. He waited for her to reappear for long enough that by the time she came back down, freshly showered and in the oversized sweatshirt he had come to associate with Hermione when she was having a hard time of things, he had already discarded his school sweater and reclined, tipping his head back tiredly.

There was almost no one in the common room, just a few first and second years, the studious ones and the shy ones, and they all kept away from the two older students.

"Better?" George asked as she approached again, picking up one of the squishy throw pillows laying around and held it in her hands, contemplating. "What?" He lifted his head and she shuffled her socked feet.

"Can I..." Hermione sighed, and looked down quickly.

"Whatever it is, yes," George nodded sincerely. Literally, whatever she was considering would be alright by him. He was so exhausted from tossing and turning all week that he couldn't even work up the brain power to say anything else. She seemed to consider his words carefully before settling down on the couch a short distance away and pulling her legs up. George's eyes fell closed, the small comfort of her proximity and the fire starting to let his mind untether for the first time in the last few days.

Something landed on his lap and he jumped violently.

"Can I..."

He opened an eye to find the pillow she had been holding sitting in his lap and her face looking at his questioningly.

"Yes," he choked out. His whole body seemed to be vibrating on the inside, waiting for her to make her move and George was sure the part of his brain responsible for regulating breathing had somehow gotten scrambled. As Hermione leaned down and settled her head on the pillow in his lap, it didn't seem to be able to decide if he should inhale or exhale, and that was slightly problematic considering it caused some strangled choking noises to become apparent.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yup," he croaked back.

Hermione's shoulder was pressed snuggly into the side of his thigh and her head was balanced heavily on the pillow as she curled up on her side and bent her legs at the knee.

Hermione Granger was cuddling with him.

As his brain reeled from the realization for a few minutes, the flames in the grate dancing merrily. Maybe it was the fact that he was so tired, maybe it had to do with the spell, maybe it was everything combined, but the thought of her snuggling up with him fairly docilely kept repeating like a broken record until he was jolted out of his trace sometime later.

Hermione was totally silent and still other than her hand burrowing under the plush pillow and snaking over his thigh.

All coherent thought left his head like the bottom had just flipped open and all ability to form sentences fell out the hole there.

It was just flashes.

Flashes of her stomping her foot while she screamed at him about products, casting the spell of her that fateful day, yelling at him about how hurt she was. Flashes of her working quietly across the table from him, looking up at him while her arms were cinched around his waist, looking down at him as her finger brushed his scalp. The sound of her gasp, the tingles and warmth, the draw to pull her closer, always closer -

An extremely vivid memory in slow motion of seizing her in the second floor hallway and the thrill of pushing his tongue into her eager mouth - all hot breaths and angry utterances and cursing and zinging and tingling and grabbing and "_she can't do that_" - "_she's a fucking cow_" - flesh, pressing flesh - wanting to push her smallness against the wall in the alcove and the sound she had made when he did -

George found himself torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. What he should do was let her sleep, her slow breaths and stillness evidence that his presence eased her mind enough for her to relax and the likelihood of him being able to drop off should be pretty high too, but the burning desire to wake her up and insist that she let him take her somewhere quiet - alone - and pick up right where they had left off three weeks ago was making his hands twitch. And of course he prayed that she both kept her hands to herself in order to tempt him less, and also silently begged that her hand keep wandering in her sleep and bestow him with a little mercy.

George had been so ashamed after their angry snog in the alcove that he had only briefly worried if she might notice how hard he was because of it. Now the desire for her to touch him again was so strong that he was certain she'd feel it through the pillow if she woke up.

Mouth - hands - hips - breasts -

_Breast_.

He had forgotten that little thumb brush at the end, the one that had shocked her back into her right mind and thought of the shiver that had run the length of her against him nearly broke him apart as he strained to keep still under her head.

Breathing slowly, he shut the thoughts down.

Maybe he just needed a good wank.

* * *

**A/N: Oh gosh, guys.  
**

**What're we going to do with them?**

**Leave a review!**

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	10. Chapter 10

"You apologized then?"

Hermione opened her eyes to find Ron standing tall over her, the fire shining behind him. She was immediately aware of the dull throbbing ache between her legs. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to keep from making a face.

"Pardon?" she adjusted herself on the couch. She didn't even remember falling asleep. It had felt like heaven. Why did he have to wake her up?

"George - he apologized, by the looks of it, or you wouldn't have fallen asleep on him," Ron snorted and Hermione startled, remembering the details of her evening with George on the couch in the common room. Casting her gaze up, she could see he was limp with sleep, his head hanging back and his mouth open, a gentle snore coming from him as he slept.

"Apologized... apologized for what?" Hermione turned back, still sleep dazed and distracted by the ache low in her belly.

"For doing whatever he did to make you fight after the Quidditch game," Ron answered offhandedly, moving away to sit in one of the single chairs.

Ron had seen them fight?

"Oh. Yes," Hermione nodded, going along with it.

Logic and previous experience dictated that if he had seen George accost her and drag her into that alcove, he would have probably said something sooner. That or punched George in the face, which she couldn't blame him for considering sometimes she wanted to do the very same thing.

"Tired, Hermione?" Harry appeared out of the corner of her eye, laughing. "You too look like old fogies on a Friday night."

"Urgh," George groaned from behind her, lifting his head wobbly. She shifted, making to move away now that they weren't alone but his fingers moved to grip her arm and stop her. "_Urrrgh_."

The second noise from his throat was far more guttural and Hermione froze. He had made that noise in the alcove, when he was straining so hard against her it felt like he wanted to crawl _inside_ of her. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through her, zapping her nerves.

"Rise and shine," Harry laughed, and neither of the boys seemed to sense the shift in the air between Hermione and George.

"Oh, right," he rumbled sleepily. "Sorry, Granger." He released her and Hermione tamped down the urge to keen for contact again.

"S'all right," she mumbled in response, reluctantly sitting up and moving away from the warmth of George. Looking up at him as he blinked his eyes blearily, Hermione saw that he looked less pale, there was pink in his cheeks, and the hair at the back of his head was sticking lightly to his neck as he leaned forward.

She took stock of herself for comparison. The heat from the fire was actually penetrating her bones after their brief contact, her head was less fuzzy, and she had actually taken a nap. Of course, the urge to pull the pillow away from him and sit in his lap was maddening still, but it was the price to pay, she supposed.

* * *

Professor Sinistra finally let them go after their Astronomy lesson the following week and Hermione trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower tiredly behind the boys.

It had been less than a week since she and George had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the fire, and they hadn't had any time to relieve the symptoms more effectively than hands brushing in the hall on the way to or from class or ankles touching in the library under the table as they studied.

At first, those little touches had helped. They helped break up the monotony of the day, and the steely concentration she had to master to pay attention in class and not slip into a daydream. Now it was getting ridiculous though. Every touch of his, as momentary as it was, flared the throb she had felt into life, the very womanly feeling of wanting to spread her legs and find some friction. And that embarrassed her. She had always been able to keep control of herself, and as a teenager that was quite an accomplishment. But when they touched she couldn't help herself.

Hermione would feel her cheeks heat up, she would feel the tingle of George's touch zip and skip over her skin heading straight for her abdomen, and the unbidden feelings would crash into her stressed mind.

And the flashbacks!

She could be sitting in History of Magic first thing on a Monday morning taking diligent notes until Professor Binns cleared his ghost-y throat and reminded her of a noise George had made when she had felt his fingers clutch her hip tightly, pinching, and the thought that she'd very much like him to grip harder still -

Hermione shook her head to try and rid herself of the thoughts and fuzzy brain, knowing it wouldn't work regardless of how much she wanted it to. She would need to make a concerted effort to find a solution tonight because tomorrow there was a Potions quiz and she could hardly bear the thought of scoring lower than she was capable of.

"I'm going straight to bed," Ron groaned as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"I'm going to finish this before I sleep," Hermione sighed.

They boys turned for the dorms and Hermione rounded the corner to see that Fred, George and Lee were all still up working on something. The embers were starting to burn low as she approached.

"Hey, Granger," Lee piped up and Fred looked surprised to see her, however George looked perfectly expectant.

But of course, she also had a knack for knowing when he was about to round a corner or walk into the Great Hall, a talent she had been aware of for only a few days. Of course, he would be experiencing the same thing.

"Hello," she greeted meekly. "I have to brew an Invigorating Potion tomorrow..."

George gave a tiny nod and moved his books from the spot next to him automatically. They had somewhat awkwardly agreed over the weekend that if one person had something big or important coming up, the other would make every effort to make themselves available beforehand. It was an agreement of convenience. It did make it rather hard not to notice the way George's uniform shirt would be open at the top few buttons at the end of the day, like tonight, and when he craned his neck, or stretched it tiredly, that muscle was taut - what was that muscle called? - it didn't even matter because the shirt was loose under his chin and she could see a good bit of neck - that _muscle_ -

"Are you going to sit?" George asked, looking up at her. "Here I've gone and cleared you a spot, Granger, and you aren't even going to take it even though I've been a perfect gentleman -"

"Are you capable of such a feat?" Hermione asked lightly, innocently, and saw Lee crack a grin.

"You're alright, Granger," he voiced and gave her a nod when she sat down. She couldn't lie and say she wasn't pleased with his reaction, but it hardly mattered as she was here for George's company. Hermione toed off her shoes and socks and sat in the middle of the couch beside George, pulling her legs up between them and pushing her toes gently into the tiny space between his back and the sofa.

"Cold?" he laughed, a knowing look in his eye that he tried to play off lightly. He shifted to adjust his position and slyly reached behind himself to tug his uniform shirt out of his pants and Hermione refrained from mewling in pleasure when the tops of her feet came in contact with the skin of his lower back when he reclined again.

Warmth spread happily into her toes and she wiggled them deeper. It wasn't just body heat, of course. It was also that thing between them. The thing that was completely insufferable.

Hermione pulled her book from her bag and flipped it open to the instructions for tomorrow's brew, reading over them carefully and making notes of things to remember. She ignored the boys completely and carried on with her work, the night drawing to a close quickly.

"I'm off," Lee slapped his thighs loudly, jolting Hermione out of her now lazy reading.

"Me too," Fred echoed. "See you lot tomorrow."

Silence filled the space stiflingly after the two of them lumbered up the steps to the boys dorms and the door clicked shut behind them.

"How are you feeling?" George broke it.

How was she feeling?

Warm and relaxed and tired and drowsy and happy and tingly and w -

"I'm alright," Hermione croaked out in the low fire light, her voice hoarse from disuse. "You?"

"Erm... Better now that you've - you know..." he tipped his head back onto the sofa and over to look at her for the first time since she'd sat down. As soon as she could see the colour of his irises, she felt a zing ripple down her spine. Tipped just so, his neck was taut again, the curve of it enticing her deliciously -

But that was unproductive, thinking like that.

She ought to stop it.

"Are you feeling as good as you possibly can?" George asked. "Is this working for you?"

"Well, I - uhm," Hermione stuttered as his attention focused solely on her, and under his gaze she felt rooted.

"You have to mix a complex potion tomorrow so... you should tell me if you - if you ... _want_ anything," George asked delicately and Hermione was so shocked that her book slid from her lap down and thumped to the floor. Flustered, she bent to reach for it, but George caught her wrist.

He had it cinched securely just as he had before, when he had tugged her to him and crushed his lips to hers.

"Hermione," he breathed.

"Uhm, no," she answered, snapping out of her reverie that he had caught her in. She retreated, pulling her feet out from behind him and rising, gathering her things and bending to pick up her school shoes so that she could pad barefoot up to take a shower and go to sleep.

"Are you sure?" George pressed.

Her gut flared and she felt the familiar tug, the pull of her body to his but she resisted.

Did he not know how much she wanted him to disregard her words entirely and just pull her into his lap and grind his hips up into hers?

Well, that was a point of debate.

Her _body_ wanted that, craved it desperately, but her mind did not.

"Yes, I am," she turned and made her way up to the girls' staircase, pausing only to say a short thank you. "Thank you, for... you know."

"Yeah," George sighed, breaking eye contact and looking back at the fire.

Hermione turned back again and raced up the stairs, eager to find herself in the protective cocoon of her bed, where she could hopefully sleep through the night and have a fresh start in the morning.

* * *

George didn't know what he was going to do.

She came in and tucked her feet behind him, wiggling her toes and soaking up their companionship and closeness, so innocent, demure blushes blooming on her cheeks from time to time. He longed to know what caused those flushes.

In comparison, he felt completely depraved.

In his desperation, he caught himself thinking thoughts she would probably smack him for if she knew about them at all. For example when she had curled up beside him on the couch, her skirt had been sitting halfway up her thigh, and his immediate overwhelming need had been to slide his hand up, up, up and see if she was wearing cotton or lace underneath. His pants twitched at the thought.

Sighing, George rose and adjusted himself before summoning his things and heading for the stairs. Another cold shower, then.

Because those were the things he thought of.

He caught himself aching for a glimpse of flesh beneath her uniform top whenever she unbuttoned the first button without a pullover on. Just the briefest of glimpses would help, he was sure, just a tiny snippet of private, creamy skin, and perhaps just the faintest hint of cleavage -

He opened the door to the seventh year dorm and shuffled quietly to dump his things on his bed and -

And if her shirt was untucked and loose around her, he could surely get at least one hand up it, maybe two, two hands - sides, belly, up to her rib cage - and even if she grabbed his wrists and forced them back down again, he would have touched skin, skin, always closer -

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, George leaned against it for a moment and exhaled. This was eating his patience up, day by day, but he would rather go crazy than force her to do anything, ever. Of course that would be heinous and George Weasley was not heinous.

He started the water and pulled his shirt, still buttoned, over his head with one hand and tried in vain not to aggravate the situation in his boxers as he removed his belt and trousers economically. Boxers and socks too, and he stuck a hand under the water to see what the temperature was like. It was warm, and heating up -

Like the languid heat that flowed between them when they touched, tingling, unfurling - _hot tongues and rough hands_ \- leaning down and leaning into her - she'd mewled, _mewled_ -

He stepped into the shower and stood under the spray, willing his mind to just stop, to go blank, to let him go to sleep tonight, to not think of her anymore -

Closer, always closer -

George leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, cold against the underside of his arm, so cold, _cool down George_, with his fist clenched and leaned his head against his arm. Hunched over, he let the water run, thanking Merlin that Fred and Lee were already out cold and oblivious. The bathroom was filling with steam, foggy like his mind when he hadn't been able to touch Hermione all day, it was just taking a day now, she was like a drug that he needed more of and more of _every _day -

But he'd never force her, no, he'd never force her to do anything because he had forced this situation on her and that was _wrong_ and she was right - so _right _\- it was warm and wet and she, she would be warm and wouldn't she? Because the sounds she made in the alcove implied that she was warm and wet and the sound of that made his fingers want to wrap around himself and the warm water was wet and her mouth would be warm, surely, and wet, most definitely. And wouldn't that be the most wonderful thing, really, because her lips were warm too, he knew that, he knew they were because he had kissed her, he had kissed her a lot - _not enough _\- and her tongue was sweet, so sweet -

George shuddered as his resolve broke and he reached down, the hot water dripping from his hair and his eyelashes and his nose and chin, and rolled down his neck and over his shoulders, and was it right that he was imagining her kissing down his stomach, was that allowed? Of course not, this was wrong, but _so right_ just like her, she was so right, and she'd kiss so right and tickle and smooth and grope just right -_just right _-

And he swore he had never been this hard, ever, in his whole life, even when he had seen that muggle girl in town, the one with the longest legs he had ever seen, the one with the white dress on a windy day and not a stitch of underwear on, not one stitch. Opportunistic, he'd reasoned, he was just opportunistic, and she'd uncrossed and crossed her legs and he didn't blame her for going bare because it was so hot -

And did Hermione ever do that? George groaned lowly at the thought. Had she ever done that in the summer when she was over at the Burrow, had he ever noticed if she had been wearing a dress?

Well yes there was that one time, with the blue, the prettiest shade of blue, "from France", she had said when his mother had asked where she had gotten such a beautifully made garment, but that didn't matter - faster mattered, _faster_ \- and he wasn't going to take much more of this, not much more at all - especially when he had seen her lounging on the sofa with a book, her knee propped up, it had been propped up and if he squeezed his eyes shut tight, maybe he could see something there that he hadn't seen before. Bare thighs, just parted slightly, bare and smooth - and if she would just shift - yes like _that_ \- it was just a dream, a fantasy of course, because Hermione Granger probably always wore underwear - but not now, not here in his head, with her thighs hardly touching, not touching at all, and just a _bit_ more, Hermione - yes, _yes finally _\- there she was, glistening for him in the summer heat and he -

"_Hermione_," he groaned jerkily, coming violently into his hand, so unexpectedly that he heaved humid air into his lungs and shook even though the water was very warm. George fell limply against the arm still braced against the tile and raised his head wobbily.

This was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

Bugger.

* * *

**A/N: Bit shorter than usual but worth it I think, yes?  
**

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	11. Chapter 11

Hermione had gone to sleep wound very tightly the night she'd tucked her feet into his back, and the night after as well. The long exposure to his back helped her get through Potions without a hitch, and for that she was grateful but he was nowhere to be found in order to tell. Breakfast on Friday morning answered the question of what he had been occupied with vaguely.

"I finished very well, thanks to you," she chirruped quietly, sitting down across from George and scooping cereal into her bowl.

"Good," he nodded, just barely flicking his eyes to hers before continuing with his own breakfast quietly. Hermione was reminded strongly of the way he had looked away from her after offering her more of whatever she needed that night after Fred and Lee had left. He had looked a bit hurt, a little down about her not wanting anything more. Maybe he was pouting because of rejection? Well, she didn't want to climb into his lap and let him put his hands all over - well she did, didn't she because that had been what she'd dreamed about the last two nights - but he didn't need to know that.

If he was going to be a touchy arse about her saying no, then he could fend for himself for another day.

"Georgie, that batch that we were testing out last night, it's left me with an odd mark on my - oh, hello Granger," Fred stopped talking when he looked back to his twin from chatting with Angelina and Lee, a look of shock on his face.

"Good morning," Hermione fixed him with a hard look. So the reason she hadn't seen him yesterday was because they were off testing new products again, was it?

"Don't give me that look - George, tell her not to give me that look!" Fred's jaw dropped and George scowled at him.

"If it bothers you so much, _you_ tell her - what makes you think _I_ can put a stop to it?" he grumbled back, running his fingers through his hair.

"Well, since you..." Fred trailed off, eyes flicking about at other students walking by or eating close enough to hear.

"We aren't anything," Hermione said firmly, sending an unhappy scowl of her own at George before standing and stomping down the table to find Ginny.

* * *

"What've you done to bring the Wrath of Granger down on you? I didn't think you were even capable of that now since -"

"Shut up, Fred," George snapped, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Why are we being so forceful and negative first thing in the morning?" Lee asked, sliding closer to the twins.

"Georgie's mad and Granger's mad, and apparently 'they aren't anything', according to her," Fred's eyebrows shot up and they began speaking as if George wasn't sitting _right there_.

"Looked like they were something, all right, last night. Did you see the look on her face when he let her warm her feet on him?"

"And he looked like he just about came -"

"I'll see you later when you guys aren't being such todgers," George swung off the bench, leaving his breakfast half-eaten and storming out of the Great Hall. Like they had any right to talk about it like they knew what was going on; they had no idea what it was like!

George had been busy in the afternoon, but he'd had to avoid her all day for fear of somehow letting on that he had had a bloody fantastic wank in the shower, all the while dreaming up what she'd look like under that blue fucking dress -

He hadn't been able to do anything but stare at the back of her thighs when he had almost run into her in the Charms corridor and been forced to hide behind a large statue when she had sensed him and cast her eyes back over the crowd looking for him. He wouldn't be able to bear the embarrassment of her knowing, and she _would _know, he was sure of it. She would take one look at his guilty face and know that he had been thinking of her -

Stop.

He had to get this under control.

* * *

Hermione had watched blankly from down the table as George had snarled something at Fred and Lee before storming from the Great Hall and disappearing from view.

Every time she had crossed his path since then, he had been looking a little sour faced and he kept giving her strange looks, looks that made her skin feel exposed. George had never been one to leer, at her or any other female that she'd ever seen him look at, but she always looked away, hoping it was a figment of her imagination. Admittedly, the intense looks usually sparked something she was keen to ignore, especially these days.

At dinner she sat with Harry and Ron, the latter of which was getting excited for the Quidditch game that was to take place the next morning.

"Well, Angelina said I was getting better at balancing just with my legs holding on - and let me tell you, that's not easy," Ron said poignantly for Hermione's benefit, his cheeks pink with self-satisfaction.

"Who's playing tomorrow?" Hermione asked, clueless and getting a bit antsy after nearly two days with no George. She was not about to let him and his bad mood win, and so she was just going to stick it out.

"Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Harry informed her with a small nod. "And winner takes next week's round with Slytherin, since they beat Hufflepuff last game."

"Right," Hermione tried to sound like she was following. The fact was that she didn't much care for strategy talks, but no matter how many times she had politely explained that fact, the boys kept harping on. "Er, Ron, I'm going to shower and change before rounds tonight, but I'll meet you in the common room at seven thirty?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron moaned. "I'd forgotten about rounds. Yeah, alright. D'you think we could swing by the kitchens and grab a snack before we head back after? Rounds always make me hungry..."

"Everything makes you hungry," Hermione snorted, using her spoon to scoop up the last little bit of the soup she had chosen for supper. "See you later; don't be late! Seven thirty!" she stressed, and Ron nodded with a miserable look while Harry laughed silently into his own bowl.

Hermione headed back to the dorms, the castle quite quiet as most were lingering at dinner with friends, putting off homework until at least tomorrow morning and enjoying the start of the weekend. She dropped her school bag off and gathered her things for a shower before deciding that a nice relaxing bath might help unbunch some of her muscles and ease her mind a little. She packed a change of clothes as well and set off through the corridors to the Prefects' bathroom, hoping it was free.

"Lavender Delight," Hermione muttered to the entrance once past the stature on the fifth floor of Boris the Bewildered. To her immense pleasure the door opened, meaning it was free for her use, and she stepped inside the large stone chamber. Being on the cusp of December meant that the sun had already set, and so a familiar candle glow burst into life as the door closed behind her, illuminating the large pool-like tub set into the stone floor. Surrounding it were the lovely golden taps that provided many different bubbles and scents and water - 98 in total, she'd counted once - and Hermione set her things down, heading straight for her favourite tap and turning it on full force. Pink-tinted water flowed quickly, and a cascade of dense frothy bubbles started to form where it hit the stone bottom. Hermione turned to undress and set her dirty clothes in the laundry basket by the bench near to where she had put her clean ones.

Hermione had used the Prefects' bathroom many many times and she loved just about every detail of it but by far, her favourite thing, was that the stone of the cavernous room never seemed cold. In fact, it always seemed to her to be emitting some warmth, meaning that as she padded around barefoot before and after bathing, her feet never got cold. Her pulled a large fluffy towel from the clean stack on the sideboard, along with a washcloth and returned to pluck her comb from its spot in her bathroom bag.

The long, large tub was now nearly full of water and a steamy haze hung over it, blurring the candlelit view she had. Hermione set the towel and washcloth at the edge and crouched, bracing her hands on the stone beneath her and testing the water with one foot. The steam carried with it the gentle smell of rose, and it enveloped her as she slid into the delightfully hot water.

The sting slowly ebbed as Hermione found herself a spot to sit, the stone of the carved tub warm against her legs and back as she reclined and balanced her head on the edge of it.

Her body was tired but tight, and she hoped desperately that the water would relax her tonight. She ached and as she slid deeper, the bubbles tickling her chin, she felt her shoulders and back sigh in contentment. The hot water lapped at her skin and warmed her to the core and she heaved a large sigh. It was really a pity that she only had about an hour before she had to get out, because she really could have spent the better part of the evening in here avoiding other people. Other people meaning George.

Surely he would be looking for her now, hoping to get in a hug or a brush of the hand or something. He was looking particularly on edge earlier and she had to admit that he looked like she felt. Maybe this would teach him to be a little nicer, even _if_ he was having a hard day. There was no reason to snap at her, considering what they had to deal with was _his_ fault.

Hermione dipped her head back to wet her hair with a hiss and massaged in some shampoo. The grime of the day was melting off, little by little, and she was marginally content. As she lathered a bar of soap into her washcloth, she considered what to say to George the next time she saw him.

"Where've you been?" he'd ask, his damp hair flooping into his eyes and he'd raise a hand to brush it back.

"Waiting for your bad mood to pass," she'd say casually. "Has it?" As if it was no consequence to her whether it had or not. That would teach him.

"It has now." That roguish smile of his, the one that usually meant he was up to no good, the crooked one.

And somehow, _somehow_, he would get his arm around her waist and give her no choice as he leaned down and affixed his lips to hers. That beguiling charmer, he'd know exactly how long to tease her before swiping the very tip of his tongue along the inner edge of her lips and making her shiver from head to toe.

And he'd press her against the wall, the wall that hadn't been there just a moment ago but who cared where it came from because his fingers would weave into her hair and he would hold it firmly, angling her just so, holding her to him tightly. His lips would grow more demanding and she would gasp, her heart pounding, and were all kisses like this because she didn't think they were, were they?

He was tall, and she short, and they could never seem to get close enough, but he would hold her tightly and give her no choice but to stand on her toes as he leaned down. And she would crave for the hand that was skimming up and down her side to be under her shirt, and like he could read her mind, he would make it happen.

To her surprise he would take it slow and work his way from her hips up, gripping and squeezing and holding and brushing until he reached the underside of her bra and by then of course, she'd be panting for it. And when he finally, _oh god_, when he finally tugged down one cup and curved his hand around her flesh, she would whimper her approval and her knees would buckle, just completely buckle under her.

It wouldn't matter because he would be there to catch her, and she would pull him closer, _always _closer. He would knead her, rolling the soft flesh of her in his palm repeatedly but when he would pinch - just a little pinch, not painfully - when he would pinch her nipple lightly between his thumb and index finger and tug, she would begin to unravel, starting at the tips of her fingers and toes.

And he would again grip her hair firmly and switch to the other breast, still with his tongue in her mouth, swallowing her groans and when the moment came to tug on the other nipple she wouldn't be able to stop herself from pressing her centre against the thigh he had wedged between her own somehow without her noticing before then.

He would swirl his tongue and pluck her nipple, swallow every groan of hers and press his thigh harder, firmer until -

Hermione woke violently and called out, her voice echoing around the cavernous empty space. Blinking her eyes quickly, she took a deep breath. That had been unexpectedly... vivid. When her blood slowed in her veins, she realized that she had been dozing long enough for the shampoo lather in her hair to go cold and hoped she hadn't overstayed too long. When had she even fallen asleep? Rinsing quickly, Hermione jumped out of the tub and dried off using the plush towel. What had even just happened? Hermione pulled her clean clothes on quickly, trying determinedly to ignore the pulsing hotness that didn't seem to be even close to disappearing.

She raced back up to the Gryffindor Tower in her clean muggle clothing, glad she had packed her sneakers. Her thighs were still clenching tightly, along with something else that felt like it might be at the deepest part of her and she tried to push the thought away.

It had been a fantasy, one she had let get away from her for a moment, but a fantasy nonetheless. She had a job to do now, she chastised herself.

"There you are," Ron sighed dejectedly. "Thought you might have drowned or something."

"Don't sound too disappointed," she grumbled, flushing at the thought that she had just had the most pleasant dream focused on his older brother and the things he had done to her in it. "I'll be right back, let me just put this stuff away." Hermione returned her bath things to her room and grabbed a sweater, pulling it over her damp bun of hair she had tied up on her dash back to the tower. Whipping her wand out of her pocket, she dried her hair hastily and hurried back down to Ron. The two hopped out of the portrait and set out down the seventh floor corridor.

"Are you going to visit your parents for the holidays?" Ron asked idly as they trekked down their familiar route, weaving down through the sixth, fifth and fourth floors.

"Yes, they've already planned out a trip to the Swiss Alps for skiing," Hermione nodded. Her mother had written her weeks ago about it and it had been troubling Hermione greatly since then. She hadn't told George yet, of course, because she had been holding out hope that they would have found a counter spell and the need for alternate arrangements wouldn't be necessary. She missed her parents, of course, and she was looking forward to visiting them but considering the situation with George, she didn't really want to find out what would happen if they were separated for three weeks. Three days was bad enough as it was, but three _weeks_? That was unconscionable and ill-advised. They'd both go mad after driving everyone around them to tears, surely.

"And skiing is the one with..." Ron screwed up his face as they turned around another corner and looked through the stone arches from the fourth floor down into the third floor when the library was below, rows and rows or tall stacks. Madam Pince was stalking down every aisle and returning books to their homes, getting ready to close up for the night as curfew drew closer and closer.

"With the slats of wood tied to your boots, yes," Hermione sighed. They'd been over this plenty of times and Ron laughed.

"I still can't get over the fact the you speed down a bloody mountainside on bits of wood for fun," Ron snorted.

"And _I _still can't get over the fact that _you_ propel yourself around in the sky on a muggle cleaning implement and try to score points against _other_ people flying around on muggle cleaning implements," Hermione shot back with an easy laugh.

"Well, that's normal, isn't it?" Ron laughed and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Not a bit," Hermione grinned at him. "So how do you think Harry's fairing with the D.A.? Is he still having nightmares?"

"Nightmares, no, I don't think so. He hasn't, you know, woken me up with them in a while. And the D.A.'s good, I think it's helping," Ron said simply.

"Me too. It's really coming along, we all are; your last Reducto was really something," Hermione gave him a look.

"You saw that, did you?" Ron beamed and stood taller. "Yeah, that was a good one."

"But everyone really. Everyone has been coming so far. I never thought we'd get something so organized going, but Harry's really doing a fantastic job of helping us," Hermione nodded slowly. "I wonder if we should help him brainstorm new stuff for after the break. I think everyone will be raring to go and ready to master some new stuff after we get back."

They wandered down the hallways listening for people out of bed still as curfew came and went but the castle was remarkably quiet. Hermione hugged her arms around herself as they scarpered through the open courtyard near the Infirmary and around into the relative warmth of the Entrance Hall, the dungeons being the last thing on their route before ending with a trip past the kitchens for Ron, as usual, and then back up the other side of the seventh floor corridor.

Ron held the portrait of the fruit bowl open for her and they stepped inside, the humidity in the kitchens a lot higher that the rest of the castle. They were quickly greeted and served before being pushed back out by tiny hands eager to see to their tasks for the night. Many of the elves would be out cleaning the castle for the next day and Hermione sighed, having tried to fight this battle already.

Climbing the stairs back up to the tower, Ron was putting away the last of his chocolate éclair as they overheard a faint noise coming from the classroom to his right, the one right on the last corner before the common room. Hermione's stomach jumped uncomfortably and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Ah, it was almost a perfect score," Ron sighed, commenting on the fact that they had caught no one out of bed after hours all night until now. "Do we really have to go in there? They're probably Gryffindors and I don't want to take points away -"

"Oh, shush. If they didn't want to get in trouble, they shouldn't be out of bed right now," Hermione whispered back sharply before turning her eyes to the offending door again, the feeling of dread taking root low in her midsection. "Go on - open it!"

"You open it!" Ron hissed back, crossing his arms.

"Don't be such a child, Ronald," Hermione huffed and stepped forward, her trainers muffling her footsteps on the red hall runner. Wrapping her hand around the brass doorknob, she swallowed and twisted, pushing the door in quickly.

"Right, you'll have to clear out, it's after curfew and you should know - _George_?" Ron was taken aback after stepping in close behind her for support.

Hermione's mouth dropped open at the sight before her.

George was leaning over a girl, a girl perched on a worktable, a Hufflepuff girl by the colours of the tie lying on the floor by George's feet. She looked appalled to see Ron and Hermione standing there and she was frozen in shock, George hunched over her with his hips between her parted legs and his arm just now slithering out from around her waist where he had been holding her to him tightly.

"Oh, _shite_, " Hermione heard George curse quietly and suddenly there was a scrambling and she closed her eyes in disbelief. Why it was disbelief, she didn't know, but when she opened them again, she felt anger flare tightly and hotly inside her ribcage.

She had been spending more and more time with George over the last weeks and months and was growing to enjoy his company, she now realised. She had been growing to enjoy his presence, as irritating as he could be sometimes, and this felt like betrayal.

Hermione took a deep breath. She had no reason to feel betrayed, George was hardly hers, was he? They weren't dating, they had never discussed the thing between them in regards to other people and he was free to do what he wanted and yet - and yet her stomach felt like it was full of acid and she felt hot and sick. Hermione's eyes flashed furiously as she considered the urge to scream; the urge to scream at George, at the girl, to rip her away from George, because that was her place, that was _her _place on the desk and how _dare_ he let some other girl - how dare he _do _that with another girl -

"You better get back to your common room," Ron spoke up awkwardly and the girl, who had thankfully stood and straightened her skirt and rebuttoned her top, bent to retrieve her tie and took off, cheeks flaring brightly as she passed by Ron and Hermione and squeezed into the corridor behind them. Her footsteps retreated hastily and before long the three of them were silent again.

George was staring at her hesitantly, his cheeks red and his eyes burning holes into hers.

She was going to be sick.

"He's _your_ brother," Hermione ground out, turning sharply to Ron. "_You_ deal with him."

Before either of them could stop her she turned on her heel and stomped toward the Fat Lady, tears of frustration and embarrassment gathering hotly in her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh.  
**

**So I just want to make it abundantly clear that I appreciate every alert, favourite and review that you guys submit, it means a lot. I haven't really replied to many so far, but I used to do that a lot for The Injunction, so I'll try to start doing that again. **

**Let me know what you think's going to happen! We've obviously reached the 'M' rating level with the last two chapters and really, who can blame them? I'd have jumped George a long time ago, hahaha. **

**So leave a review! How's this turn of events for you?**

**Cheers**


	12. Chapter 12

"I swear to Merlin, George, if I catch you with your hand up a girl's skirt again, I'll -"

"You'll what?" George challenged Ron with a teasing lilt to his voice.

"_Just find a better hiding spot_! Surely you know some better snogging places than the abandoned classroom down the hall from the tower. I mean shouldn't you be a bit more... chivalrous? The Hufflepuff common room is all the way down by the kitchens..." Ron rambled, leading the way out of dark classroom and turning in the direction Hermione must have taken just a few moments ago, although the hall was empty now.

"Oh, like you're such a gentleman," George snapped. His stomach was burning, burning in his abdomen and he felt like he was hanging in limbo, waiting for something he wasn't sure was coming.

"I'm going to have to dock twenty points," Ron sighed, coming to a stop in front of the Fat Lady who gave them both a reproachful look.

"_Twenty _points?" George looked sharply over to Ron, aghast. "Why would you have to take twenty points off us?"

"Doxy Wings," Ron spoke to the woman in pink commanding their attention, and she swung forward with a sour look that both of them ignored. "Because you were out after curfew. Hermione would have given you detention, so count yourself lucky."

"Lucky?! I'm lucky because I'm getting points taken away, or because I'm your bloody brother? You didn't _need _to take so many points away. Or do you want us to lose the House Cup just because you're a tosser?" George voiced, following Ron through the portrait hole and into the common room.

"We take the same amount of points away from every house for the same violations, George. Hermione made a list - it's to avoid favouritism. Twenty points from you, and twenty points from the Hufflepuff."

"The Hufflepuff...? What Hufflepuff?" Fred was already standing, an apprehensive look on his face as he regarded his brothers closely, shrewdly, as if to gather as much information as possible before they even began explaining.

"I don't know her name," Ron flushed a shade of magenta that George would have normally taken the mickey out of. "I've seen her around though. Blonde hair. Long legs." Ron flushed even deeper at the thought.

"Sinclair? _Angela _Sinclair?" Fred's eyes widened as the possibilities of what George might have been doing with her ran through his mind quickly. "What the hell were you doing with her?"

The few beats of silence that followed his twin's nearly rhetorical question were tense. George was looking at Fred, not knowing if he should be ashamed - because that feeling seemed to be seeping into his very cells for some reason - or if he should give him a shit-eating smirk and play it off as nothing, which it did end up being.

"Getting up to no good," George hedged, settling on a half-smirk that made Fred's face darken. What was up with _him_? He fancied Johnson something fierce, so he could get off his bloody high horse -

"I'm going to bed," Ron threw up his hands, his eyes darting from Fred to George and back again quickly before deciding that getting between the twins and sticking his nose into whatever _this_ was, this silently building argument, was a terrible idea.

"And Granger caught you? Granger and Ron?" Fred's eyes were boring into his angrily, and George was at a total loss.

"Yes," he raised an eyebrow expectantly and Fred stared, silent.

George looked back at Fred, saw his own features, so familiar, twist and contort into faces and emotions he wasn't feeling. Was that... _shame_ on his face? Guilt? Anger mixed with regret. And disappointment. Fred was _disappointed_ in him. His gut clenched. There was something going on here that he didn't fully understand and the foreboding feeling was growing.

"You need to apologize," Fred growled. "Actually, no, don't go anywhere near her - do you know what you've gone and done?"

"I didn't think I'd -"

"No shit, you didn't think! You're a bloody wanker. Do you know she's just come in here upset and crying and it most certainly has everything to do with you _not thinking_ with Angela Sinclair!" Fred ranted, building steam as he went. He paused, and George saw a decision pass through his eyes. "Come on." Fred reached out with quick reflexes and snagged George's elbow, cinching in tightly and tugging him in the direction of the dorms.

"What are you - where are we going? Stop pulling me - Oi!" George dug his heels in, his face scandalized. He looked over for Lee to find him watching intently with a wide painful grimace in place on his face. This couldn't be good. Again his gut clenched. "Where are you _dragging_ me?"

"To see Granger," came Fred's dangerous reply.

"What?" George started pulling back harder to stop their progress and Fred fixed him with a dark look that said if he wanted to live through the night, he should cooperate. "No, _no_, no no no. I don't want to go see her, Fred. This is a terrible idea."

Fred was disregarding everything he said with venom that George was far from used to, and George shut his mouth when he saw Fred perform the most concentrated wandless magic he had ever seen his twin do before pulling him up the stairs toward what he presumed was Hermione.

"No, what a _terrible_ idea was, was to go and let Angela Sinclair wrap her 'long legs' around you - _wait_ -" he stopped and rounded on George, causing him to stumble on the steps. "You didn't - Oh, George, tell me you didn't actually manage to let Granger catch you with your dick _in _another girl."

"_No_!" George held up in his hands, palms open, in defence. "No, I was just looking for a little relief -"

Which he didn't find, didn't find at all. At first, he thought it was working when Angela had let him kiss her forcefully and rub up against her, and she didn't ask questions which was a great thing for him. She let him groan into her mouth and rolled her body against his in such a wanton fashion that he'd normally question why a girl he didn't know that well at all was letting his hands wander so freely about her flesh, why she was letting him unbutton her shirt so quickly without preamble, and what sort of girl opened her legs for a bloke so quickly anyway? Normally he'd question these things - well, normally he'd never be in a situation similar to that one ever - but desperate times had called for desperate measures.

"Regardless of _her_ feelings, yeah? Because you haven't told _me _exactly what's going on but I'd bet our entire stash of fireworks that she's dealing with the same shit and _she_ didn't go out and snag some unsuspecting bloke to shag it out with!" Fred's hand reached back as they levelled with the fifth year dorms and fisted in the front of George's shirt tightly. Fred directed George back so that his shoulder blades were pressed into the cold stone of the spiral staircase next to the door, and fixed him in place with a look.

Fred reached out and rapped on the closed door politely, a muffled voice responding after a moment of two of shuffling. George could see his brother's demeanour shift and calm as he waited for Hermione's response.

"I don't - Uhm, go away," her raspy voice met George's ears and he knew right away she had been crying.

"Granger, I know you're livid with my twin but if you could just crack the door the smallest bit, I'm sure it'll be to your benefit. We're not coming in and you don't have to come out."

"_We_? No thank you, Fred," Hermione called back through the door, both nearer and clearer.

"I really hate to be a bother Granger, but I have to insist that it'll help; you two haven't touched in a while," Fred let his sentence hang in the air as George stared at him pointedly. "Yeah, I worked it out a while ago," he elaborated, mostly for George's benefit.

"I don't want to," she said weakly through the door, sniffling quietly and making George's stomach feel like lead had taken up inside it. He was standing there now, right where Fred had left him against the wall, and thinking how he would probably give anything to have a hot shower and scrub the feeling of Angela Sinclair's fingers running over his skin clean off. The hand at his side, the right one, hanging limply, hand been on her upper thigh, his nails scratching promisingly against the edge of her underwear and he could think of nothing but wanting to cast a strong Scourgify on himself and suggest the house-elves give him a thorough onceover.

"It won't be... it won't be intimate. It won't mean anything, and I promise you don't even have to see him. I'll take care of it all. It's just... if you do this now, maybe you can get some sleep tonight, yeah?" Fred's tone was soft, comforting. "And you wouldn't have to think about him being such a complete _fucking arsehole_ for a bit, anyway."

There was silence form the other side of the door and George's heart thudded heavily in his chest in compensation. The door cracked open, just barely, but it was enough for Fred to lay eyes on Granger and George saw his twin's eyes soften even further.

"Hello, Granger," he gave her a thankful nod.

"Fred."

"Can I have your hand? Just for a moment," Fred asked, holding his own out in front of him to await hers. It appeared and he held it delicately before turning his head back to George. "Give you your arm, you twat."

With a dark glare, George held out his arm to Fred and looked away as his brother placed Hermione's fingers on the back of his wrist. She didn't move a muscle the entire time, and Fred watched the both of them carefully, as they couldn't see each other around the doorframe. When Fred dropped George's arm, Hermione's hand disappeared immediately, retracted back into the dorm.

"Sleep well, Granger," Fred called out to her as the door snapped shut again.

"Hermione - I didn't -" George felt the need to speak with her make the words bubble up, incessantly trying to get out without knowing what they wanted to say.

"She doesn't want to hear it, George," Fred countered wearily. The lock slid into place and the gentle pressure of a warding spell became evident, pressing lightly on his eardrums as she shut them out mechanically, magically - anyway that she could.

"I didn't mean -" George started down the steps again.

"What were you fucking thinking? There's no cure for this thing - you have no choice but to deal with this _with her_ since she's under the influence too! A civil working relationship would be beneficial - and you've just gone and cocked that up proper-like, haven't you?"

Mere minutes ago, this whole thing had seemed like a brilliant idea. George had tried and failed to keep his mind and eyes off of Hermione because he knew from her reaction the other day that she wasn't open to any more physical contact. He hadn't wanted to pressure her, and the next best thing was of course - find another girl, a _willing_ girl. And now he'd upset her. He had no way of knowing she would get so upset over him trying to find a solution that didn't involve her. He wanted to avoid making her uncomfortable, and instead he had hurt her. Again.

George was beginning to see a pattern.

He didn't consider himself a bad guy; in fact he usually tried to do the morally right thing. He cared about other people's feelings which was probably why he felt the hot spread of guilt in his stomach so strongly and allowed shame to colour his cheeks so completely.

And even after all that, he _still _hadn't gotten any relief.

Pressing his hardness into Angela Sinclair's hipbone for a few minutes had definitely not helped, though it had felt wonderful at the time. It had seemed like a sure fire plan to ease the tightness in his pants, get Hermione out of his fucking head, and at the same time prove to her that _he_ didn't need her just as much as _she_ didn't need him, was now suddenly - _painfully - _an obvious mistake.

Slumping into the chair by the fire across from Lee, who remained silent upon their return, George closed his eyes and sighed dejectedly. He tried not to replay the look on her face - shock, consternation, hurt, burning embarrassment, and finally dismay, all on a maddening loop in his mind's eye.

He had messed up.

* * *

George didn't see Hermione the next day, but he did see Fred, who had become unbearable about the whole situation. The closest person in the world to him, his own twin, was ashamed of him and tortuous in his disgust when they sat down in an unused corner of the library.

"As if we hadn't already done enough to her. You just had to -"

"If I remember correctly, you didn't even care about it yesterday!" George hissed at him. "You thought it was all a big joke that I couldn't stay away from her and that she didn't want me. And now suddenly you're in the thick of it -"

"Well one of us had to be. I thought you had it covered. I thought _you _were the one going through it with her and watching out for her - If it had been _me -_"

"If it had been you? _If it had been you, Fred_? What the hell does that mean?" George gaped at him.

"I would have handled this better than you have," Fred said simply, a disinterested look on his face now as he pulled out something to work on.

George ran an angry hand through his hair.

"Where the hell is this even coming from? _Do you fancy Granger?" _he whispered, feeling his gut twist - his liver seeming to disintegrate and his stomach threatening to give back all of his breakfast at the mere thought of Fred fancying -

Fred slammed his hand down on the table and leaned in dangerously towards George.

"No. No, I do not fancy Granger, George," he spat. "The point I'm trying to make is that you can have pity - compassion even - for somebody without having a _bloody crush_ on them. I would have handled this better because _I_ would have realized what we had done to her. The implications - the use of this kind of spell is not lost on me. Dark wizards could rape girls and have them trailing after them over it - but we're better than that. Or at least I thought we were. You want to run around and hurt Granger when she has _no fucking control_ over how she feels for you? Because of what _you _did-" he rubbed his forehead, "what _we_ did to her," he corrected himself.

George watched the guilt pour out of his brother. It was clear. They were to blame - and he had made it worse. He had shared little smiles, little touches with Hermione - snogged her in the second floor corridor, cleared away his books for her in the common room, almost kissed her goodnight - and then, without thought, betrayed any affections that she might have been harbouring for him.

"I'm sorry, Fred. I want to tell her that I'm sorry but I haven't seen her since last night -" George started, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Don't. Don't make this worse, George. _Leave her alone_. I'm taking control of this situation right now. I'm going to be there every time the two of you make the connection - keep you under control. Keep your damn hands off of her for any longer than they have to be," Fred snapped.

"If I could just explain it to her, she would understand, I'm sure. I feel so horrible about all of it," he lamented.

"You haven't even begun to feel horrible yet, George," Fred snorted.

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Well, _dear brother_," he said, his words coated in malice. "I spent the better part of the morning doing something that I never thought that I would ever have to do."

"And that was?" George urged him to continue, an impatient look on his face.

"Examining the merits, advantages, and disadvantages of several of our school's most dashing Ravenclaw boys. Their looks, their charms, and of course hunting for any hint of a crush that they might have on her," Fred said truthfully.

"Why would you do that?" He dreaded his twin's answer.

"Because Granger deserves better," Fred declared. George could hear that what he had really meant was 'because Granger deserves better _than you_', and the words hung in the air between them.

"You can't - She can't -"

"And why not? You did," Fred spat at him. "I even have Lee sneaking peaks at their johnsons in the lavatories. Can't suggest a bloke to Granger that'll leave her hanging out to dry, now can we?"

"You _cannot_ be serious."

George's mind was reeling - he was trying desperately not to think of some other boy getting to _touch_ Hermione - to _kiss her, _but that seemed to be all that he was capable of imagining. And it hurt - it hurt like a fucking knife in his gut, twisting. A serrated blade ripping him open from gob to groin, spilling his viscera out onto the stone floor of the library like it meant nothing.

She wouldn't - he knew that she wouldn't. She would turn away all of the boys that Fred sent her. She wouldn't hurt him like this - betray him and slay him. She wouldn't ruin him - would she ruin him? Destroy him? Hurt him?

"_Why not? You did."_

It echoed and reverberated around his skull. It was deafening, and his chest was hollow - aching and tearing.

As it turned out, Fred wasn't kidding. He carried around a notebook for the rest of the day, scribbling in it, watching the blue tie crowd like a hawk.

He also wasn't lying in the least about Lee's assignment. That much was clear when the disgruntled and disgusted boy plopped down at the lunch table and glowered at both of them before shoving a scrap of parchment in Fred's direction.

"Next time you do your own _damn_ research," he uttered menacingly.

"Does that mean you found some good prospects?" Fred asked seriously, pulling out that blasted notebook again. George was just about ready to set fire to the thing and watch it burn, burn up into a crisp and curl and char and float away to someplace where Granger would never get to see it, see how his twin brother was trying so hard to erase the hurt George had put upon her unwittingly.

George hadn't said anything to Fred about the contact with the other girl not helping. As much as he detested the idea of some other bloke's hands on Hermione skin, in her hair, he couldn't begrudge her the chance to try. Maybe it would work for her. Maybe she wouldn't need to resort to touching him and he wouldn't have to look at her up close again and see clearly in her eyes how she felt about him now that what had happened had come to pass.

* * *

For Hermione, Saturday passed by in a blur of wadded up tissues, damp pyjama sleeves and reading curled up on her side while munching occasionally on a few arrowroot cookies she had brought from home. A few times throughout the day she had drifted off into a fitful sleep, the night before having been tough.

The Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game had been that morning but Hermione had sent word down to Harry with Lavender and Parvati that she wasn't feeling well and just wanted to stay in her room and rest for the day. Thankfully neither Fred nor George came to call again, though it was against the rules for them to even be in the girls' staircase anyway. She wasn't sure how they had done it the night before but she was certain that McGonagall would be disappointed if she had known about it.

When Sunday morning dawned, Hermione forced herself up and out of bed. The hot shower that followed was glorious. In the middle of scrubbing her skin pink with perhaps a little to much enthusiasm, there was a timid knock at the bathroom door. Hermione twisted the water off and stood silently, sudsy locks heavy at her back and her skin covered thickly in soap foam.

"Yes?" she asked quietly, unsure if she had imagined the knock, and not wanting to wake her dormmates.

"Hermione? Uhm - Fred Weasley's at the door for you, shall I tell him you're in the shower?" Lavender's voice drifted through the steam to her.

"Oh! Uhm... yeah, can you tell him I can meet him downstairs in... well, a few minutes?" Hermione called back and wiped some drippy hair back on her forehead.

"He says he'll wait just outside the door for you," Lavender's voice returned, this time with a bit of a giggle. "Seems quite adamant about speaking with you."

"Right, I'll just -"

She turned the water back on and rinsed as quickly as possible, sending the soapy water spiraling the drain. Of _course _he had to be difficult and stand waiting for her on the girls' steps. With a sincere hope that he wasn't about to persuade her to forgive George any time soon, or force her touch him this early in the morning, Hermione squeezed the water from her hair and hopped out of the shower.

Sundays were usually quite lazy days for Hermione, seeing as she usually had her homework done by that point in the weekend but because of yesterday's setback, she would be spending the rest of it catching up - not that she had much at all to do anyway.

Lavender had curled back up in bed, but her eyes watched Hermione's progress around the room stealthily. Parvati, however, made absolutely no effort to disguise the fact that she was interested in the odd goings-on of her dormmate, sitting up straight in the centre of her mattress as if having been instructed strictly to do so.

"Why is Fred Weasley here for you? And how did he get up the stairs?" she asked quickly, playing with her long dark hair.

"I don't know, you'll have to ask him unfortunately," Hermione breathed her answer back as she rushed around. Hermione pulled on some jeans, a white vest top and her softest brown cardigan, convinced that comfort was key on this day.

"Are you _dating_ him?" Parvati pressed, her voice taking on a darker, more solicitous tone. Lavender shifted in her bed eager for the answer as well.

Was she dating _Fred_? Oh, it was much more complicated than either of them could understand.

"What?" Drying her frizzy hair quickly, Hermione twisted it up and out of the way, securing it with a few pins. "No, I'm not dating Fred Weasley. Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

"Well," Lavender's voice piped up and Hermione turned back to face her while sliding her wand into her pocket. "You're always with the twins now. I mean, you hate them, don't you? You used to."

Did she hate them?

Well, did she hate them now, and did she hate them before?

Hermione very much thought the answer to both was no, but the notion of her feelings for the duo having changed over the last months was one that bore an opportunity for more thought. Later, perhaps.

"I don't _hate_ them, don't be silly," Hermione breezed, feeling quite the opposite to light and airy. Her stomach was jumping and burning. She didn't want to see George yet. She wasn't ready.

"Could have fooled me..." Lavender said, and Hermione caught the two girls exchange a look between them and rolled her eyes.

When she pulled the door open a moment later, she found Fred standing against the opposite wall with his hands bunched loosely in his pockets and one foot up with the sole of his shoe against the stone behind him.

"Ah, good morning, Granger," he quirked a smile at her and she pursed her lips back.

"Good morning," she returned his greeting. "Is there any particular reason you're breaking school rules so early on a Sunday? Or is this just for fun?"

"Breaking rules is always fun - but no, this time I have a reason," Fred supplied.

"_This time_?" Parvati hissed to Lavender behind her back.

"And what's that?" Hermione asked, painfully aware of the fact that this conversation was anything but private.

"Er, I was hoping to chat over breakfast about..." Fred trailed off, "the plan, going forward."

"Uhm, right. I'll just - I'll just get -" Hermione turned back to the room to fetch her sneakers and slip them on quickly. "Right," she avoided the eyes of Parvati and Lavender as she departed, shutting the door behind herself.

Fred pushed off the wall and gave her a polite smile before leading the way down the stairs into the common room.

"Did you have to come right up to the room? You couldn't have sent another girl up to let me know you wanted to speak with me?" Hermione said exasperatedly.

"I did think of that. I'll have you know, Granger, that I'm not a complete imbecile, as you so readily suggest most of the time," Fred countered with a laugh and Hermione quirked her lips again.

"So what was it that needed discussing?" Hermione asked as Fred ushered her out of the portrait hole, George thankfully nowhere to be found.

"Well, Granger," Fred paused dramatically before dropping his voice to a suspiciously low, melodically tantalizing tone she hadn't thought him capable of. "How do you feel about seeing other blokes?"

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 12! **

**Many thanks to Politelycynical for being my sounding board for the past few weeks because quite a large chunk of this chapter comes **_**directly **_**from her. (Go check her out!)  
**

**As always, _please_ leave a review and let me know what you're thinking!**

**Cheers**


	13. Chapter 13

"What?" Hermione asked, snapping her gaze up to the redhead.

"You know, date someone and let them help you... with your issue," Fred continued. "Someone who isn't George."

"Are you... Are you addled?" Hermione looked him over as they continued down to the Great Hall.

"Lovely," Fred scoffed. "I'm just trying to do you a favour, and you think I'm mental."

"Well," Hermione said factually, "it's not as if I'm drowning in suitors. And still - that's a crazy plan!"

"Not half as crazy as you may think, Miss Granger," he turned his nose up at her jokingly. "Will you just sit with me for breakfast and let me explain? I'm trying to help here, since my brother can't do anything rationally at the moment."

"Alright, but don't expect me to agree to anything," Hermione mumbled as they drew closer to the arches at the base of the Grand Staircase that led around into the dining hall. "And uhm, thank you... for taking care of -"

"No problem, Granger. I've got a plan for that too," Fred nodded and flicked his eyes over her features as they settled at the table and pulled breakfast toward themselves.

"Have you really?" she breathed a laugh. "And here I've been dreading dealing with this whole thing."

"Mmm, well I've done a lot of thinking," Fred took a large bite of bacon and chewed thoughtfully. "I think we ought to plan run-ins throughout the day so that you two have a chance to... hold hands or something. Whatever works. And I'll be there -" he sped up when he saw her panicked look. "I'll be there every time and you don't even have to talk to the git if you don't want."

Hermione blinked. Fred was sure being helpful. It sounded as though he was... embarrassed, by his twin's actions.

"Alright," Hermione spread jam over her toast. "Do you have a schedule drawn up at all?"

"Yeah," he reached down and pulled a folded piece of parchment from his trouser pocket, handing it over to her. "It's just a start, and I just assumed you had the same schedule as Harry and Ron, though I know you take Arithmancy, but I had no idea when it was."

Hermione unfolded the parchment and gazed at his notes and rough schedule.

"Arithmancy's first thing on Wednesdays," she commented absently. "Potions hallway, first break on Monday... Between Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology on Tuesday afternoons... You've really thought this out."

"Well," Fred shrugged. "Someone had to."

"But I don't know about dating, Fred," Hermione's voice was small. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What's not a good idea?" Lee asked, sitting across from the pair.

"Going out with another bloke." Fred and Lee exchanged a glance.

"What about Matthew Sampson? Dashing bloke, good hair, nice bum - I, uh, I _guess_. Also, according to Lee, that little shit is lugging around a huge cock," Fred listed off to her with a few well-timed eyebrow arches, daring her to contradict him.

"Keep your buggering voice down, will you?" Lee leaned across the table and hissed. "Besides, I wrote 'adequate'. _A-de-quate_," he stressed the syllables by jamming his index finger into the table top and Hermione had to hold in her giggle with a hand.

Fred shuffled around in his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment, skimming it emotionlessly.

"You wrote 'adequate'. That's what you wrote. I read between the lines," Fred looked up again. "Sorry, mate."

"Anyways," Lee turned his eyes to Hermione. "I did a _lot_ of research for this project of his, please don't let it all go to waste."

"Research?"

"Yeah, like recon, for some certain _attributes_, which to be frank made me very uncomfortable but I think I managed to get away unscathed and hopefully no one thinks I'm gay," Lee sighed. "Maybe I should go find Alicia..."

"And reassert your masculinity?" Fred teased.

"Hey, don't push it, mate," Lee eyed Fred with a laugh. "I didn't see _you_ casting cheeky side glances in the toilets."

Hermione couldn't help it and burst out laughing, flushing to the very roots of her hair.

"I can't believe you did that," she gasped. "And I can't believe you _made_ him do that."

"I didn't _make_ him do anything," Fred shook his head with a wide smile.

"That's not how _I_ remember it," Lee grumbled, still in good spirits.

"Well, thank you," Hermione acquiesced. "But I don't see how I can just date someone to..."

"Shag their brains out?" Fred commented and Hermione covered her face with her hands, the heat of her cheeks feeling like a searing hot pan straight from the oven.

""Well, until we find a solution to the problem you two are having, we have to at least find a solution. This gives you a shot at sanity, yes?"

"I suppose," she whispered. "Oh, I don't want to talk about this anymore," she moaned, into her loosely laced hands, looking through the gaps down at her plate.

"Alright, alright, don't get yourself in a twist," Fred poured her some orange juice.

"Besides," Lee spoke up, and Hermione knew it was going to be something she didn't want to hear. "You need a little relief too."

"Urgh," Hermione closed the gaps again. "I can't talk about this with you two."

"Why not? We know _all _about birds and release," Fred drawled cheekily, knowing he was getting on her nerves.

"Oh, please, I do _not_ want to hear any more on the subject," Hermione grumbled.

"There was this one time -" Lee started.

"If you finish that sentence, I will leave," Hermione protested, opening her eyes and looking at him with pleading desperation, her cheeks still burning.

"Well, no, see -"

"I don't want to _see_, Lee!" Hermione voice took on a shrill edge but she then joined them in laughter, thankful that Lee had stopped short and not continued on to inform her of things she'd rather not think of him doing.

"But either way, Hermione, we've got a list here and I've narrowed it down to the top three for you," he pulled another sheet of parchment from his bag and passed it to her.

"Matthew Sampson, sixth year, Eddie Carmichael, sixth year, Marcus Belby, fifth year..." Hermione skimmed the list. Fred had taken this to an absolute extreme. The list had names down one side and scores out of ten for categories like intelligence, personality, common sense, grades, handsomeness, reputation, and a confusing abbreviation. "What does C. S. stand for?"

"Cock size," Lee answered, giving her an exasperated look and she dropped the sheet to the table, ruffled.

"Just being honest, love," Fred winked before she knocked him in the shoulder with his fist, making him sway in his seat.

"And they're all Ravenclaws," Hermione commented. "And why is Roger Davies even on here?"

"He's a bonus option. I mean, even I can't deny the mans got good looks," Fred said confidently.

"Yes, but he's always got a girl on his arm. There's no point in me even trying," Hermione snorted.

"Suit yourself, love," Lee said after swallowing a massive bite of pancake doused in maple syrup.

"Yeah, go on and pick one, and we'll get the ball rolling. Oh and, as an aside, Eddie Carmichael comes with a glowing recommendation from Lisa Turpin. And I mean _quite_ complimentary, if you know what I mean." The boys laughed heartily and Hermione shook her head.

"Pick one what?" George appeared over Lee's shoulder and Hermione carefully schooled her face into a mask of impassive indifference. She was absolutely not ready to speak with him. The burn of jealously flared back into life in her gut, the vision of George angled over the Hufflepuff girl with his hand somewhere shed rather not think about. "And why didn't you tell you where coming down for breakfast?"

"Er, a bloke for Granger," Lee informed him, the awkwardness of the situation evident though Hermione and George seemed quite happy to ignore it.

"Oh," George stilled momentarily before pulling the tureen of porridge closer and scooping some into a bowl for himself, his eyes fixed on the task at hand as if he was disarming a bomb instead of ladling breakfast.

"So, Granger..." Fred spoke up, filling the silence and pushing the list back into Hermione hands smoothly as she took another bite of eggs in an effort to occupy herself and not speak to George. "Who will it be?"

"Erm," she swallowed loudly, her eyes flickering over George's tight jaw as he avoided her glance. "Eddie Carmichael?"

"Is that a statement or a question?" Lee laughed teasingly.

"Well, I'm not really sure I should even be doing this," Hermione grumbled, her cheeks flaring again, wondering what could be going through George's head. He had no reason to be all tight jawed over the situation, he'd brought it on himself. Or... well, they were both in an odd predicament, weren't they? Maybe it would be best to just deal with every thing a day at a time and refrain from throwing blame around.

Perhaps Fred was right; perhaps this would help her.

What was the harm in trying?

"There you are!"

The foursome turned to see _that_ Hufflepuff girl striding confidently towards them down the aisle between their tables.

"I looked all over for you yesterday, George."

_George_.

The way she said his name prickled Hermione's skin, causing all the little hairs on her arms and neck to stand on end. The jealously that had since calmed from a few minutes ago was swirled into life again, sloshing up and singeing the inside of her ribs hotly, like acid.

"Oh, I... I was busy," George answered automatically as the blonde came to a stop right beside him. Lee was casting glances between the Hufflepuff girl and Hermione subtly, and she wished he would stop; it was distracting.

"Right, well, are you still busy?" she used a tone that made Hermione's skin crawl.

"Er, actually, yeah," he nodded and Fred remained motionless at Hermione side. She prayed very much that could also stay in her seat with her mouth closed.

"What about tomorrow?" she needled smoothly, shifting her eyes then around the group for the first time, lingering on Hermione from across the table. Hermione felt her muscles urge to jump at her, maybe claw her eyes out for looking at George the way she had, for letting her gaze linger far too long than was appropriate on his bare arms, and was she reaching out for his shoulder now? How _dare_ she -

"You know, Angela, let's just leave it," George responded and Hermione blinked slowly, breathing through her nose. _Angela_ lowered her hand before her fingertips touched him and Hermione let a breath go.

It was completely irrational to be getting this angry over a silly girl - over a stupid _boy_, even. George wasn't even her type, not that she was even sure what hers was. But he wasn't it, she knew that. So all of this, all of these feelings, must just be from having previously enjoyed his company and having him betray her - not betray because he wasn't her - oh, none of this was making any sense anymore, why was none of it making sense? Everything always made sense to Hermione Granger.

"If that's what you want," the blonde gave him a cooler look. As she turned away, she cast her eyes over Hermione once more, and Hermione got the distinct impression that the girl did not like her.

Pity.

Fortunately, the feeling was mutual.

"Yes, Eddie Carmichael," Hermione found herself saying and Fred turned to her with a bright look as the Hufflepuff stomped away.

"Fabulous! Go get him," Fred pointed across to the Ravenclaw table slyly.

"_What_?" Hermione breathed. "I can't just go over there and throw myself at him."

"Sure you can. Gryffindor courage and all that - go on," Lee cocked his head in the same direction.

George remained silent, his jaw twitching almost imperceptibly.

"Besides, I have it on good authority that he'd like to pick your brain over, and by brain, I mean -"

"Don't say that just before I'm going to go and do something I'd never dream of doing in other circumstances," Hermione hissed, curling close to the table.

"Right, sorry," Fred held up his hands but gave her a wink, causing her to cover her face with her hands once more.

Really, this was no way for her to be acting. She was going to have to get over it if she had any hopes of relieving the pulsing in her veins that culminated between her legs. The idea of sparking a relationship just to get off with the sixth year was... less than upstanding and moral but... but what was a girl supposed to do? It's not as if she could ask advice, after all.

"This is mad."

Hermione brought her hands away from her face and slapped them to the table harshly.

"This is absolutely mad," she continued. Hermione could feel her hands shaking minutely as the adrenaline started to rush through her limbs. Was she about to do this? Her elevated heart rate made the throbbing more obvious and Hermione snapped. Yes, she was going to do this.

Blood rushed to her ears, cutting off the sounds of the lazy Sunday breakfasters chatting over plates of food and mugs of tea and glasses of juice. The clinking of utensils faded into the background as Hermione stood and made her way over to the Ravenclaw table where Eddie Carmichael was seated with his friends, laughing over something someone said. As she drew closer, Hermione could see his ruffled dark hair gleam in the bright morning light and he was laughing so freely, laughing in a way she wished very much would be more common for the people in her life.

When Hermione was three or four steps away, he saw her and his smile widened.

* * *

The three seventh years watched from the Gryffindor table, leaning to the sides as the Hufflepuffs between them and their target shifted with activity.

George watched silently - completely still - as Hermione's form took determined steps toward Eddie Carmichael and something was rising in his throat. Bile? Acid? He didn't know and it hardly mattered.

He watched as Eddie looked up and gave Hermione the widest smile, _the wanker_, and shuffled down the bench a bit to make room for her. Hermione squeezed in, facing out instead of in. Hopefully that meant that the exchange would be brief. Hermione was gazing up at him with a furious blush on her cheeks, and he wondered latently if it was from embarrassment or from arousal. If it was arousal, it was surely because of him, George, and not Eddie. Was she _that_ desperate?

Well, that was unfair. He had been. He had to let her try. Maybe it would help her.

But _still_!

That was _his_ girl - his Hermione - and Eddie was leaning in close and giving her a secret smile and George wanted to rip it from his face personally and shove it where the sun -

"Wow, she's actually going for it," Lee breathed. "Sorry, mate." He turned back to give George a sympathetic look and George glowered back.

George's eyes snapped back to the scene across the hall, immediately drawn to her, and he watched as Eddie lay a hand on her jean-clad thigh. His hackles immediately rose and when he saw the boy's had squeeze and Hermione drop her gaze to her leg with a shy blink of her eyes, he growled and started.

"Woah there cowboy," Fred uttered quietly and Lee clamped a hand onto his shoulder to keep him from leaping out of his seat in earnest.

When Hermione nodded in agreement to something and rose again, the two shared another wide smile before Hermione started on her way back to the Gryffindor table, flushed and elated, and George felt something expand inside his heaving chest.

_His._

She was _his_.

* * *

The following week was excruciating for George.

Fred would stage random run-ins all over the school at convenient times, like between classes when they were in the same area or passing in the halls and Hermione and George would exchange a book to brush fingers or Fred would accidentally trip Hermione so that George would have to catch her to keep her from faceplanting. Whenever there was no one around they would hold hands stiffly for as long as they could stand to do it, usually until Hermione pulled away.

Even though she would sometimes sit with them in the common room like before, those ties were growing more infrequent and George was getting restless.

"Careful there, Granger!" Fred tripped her for the fourth time that week and George reached out to steady her. He had begun to crave their brief moments and meant to make the most of it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped her right herself, and adjust her bag on her shoulder.

"Thanks," she glanced quickly up at George and his stomach jumped. They hadn't had very much contact, it was just enough to keep sane, but it was starting to be less and less effective, both of them feeling the strain. He supposed that was why she did not immediately brush his arm away or shrug out from under it.

All of the typical things were being to weigh on him again, and he assumed the same was true for her, given the blue circles under her eyes as well as his. Sleeplessness, restlessness, anxiousness, inability to concentrate, the gnawing feeling of needing to fulfill something, _something_, anything -

"Are you alright, love?"

Eddie Carmichael's voice had never been quite so grating as when he interrupted them that afternoon on their way down to dinner.

"Hello, Eddie," Hermione brightened, and George felt the familiar roll of her shoulders as she emerged from under George's arm much too soon for his liking. Unconsciously before he could stop himself, he tightened his grip and something on Hermione's face must have tipped Eddie off because the boy's eyes flicked up to him hardly.

"Weasley."

"Carmichael," George gritted out smoothly, disguising his hate for the boy and his name quite well considering he was about to whisk Hermione away.

"We better be on our way," Fred intervened and Hermione smiled gratefully at him as he pulled George away by the elbow.

"Yeah, I've got practice tonight," Ron spoke up. "I've got to go."

Harry scowled at the idea of not being on the Quidditch team yet again, and George sympathized with him.

"I was wondering, if I could talk to you?" Eddie said quietly to Hermione and she blinked in surprise.

"Of course, yes," she responded and Eddie's face turned quite intense, making George's muscles tense. He did _not_ like that look on his face. As Eddie's eyes played over Hermione's features, George felt himself ready to spring at him, especially when he saw the boy's gaze fix on her lips.

_His_ lips. His lips to kiss, and that bloody wanker better keep his hands off Hermione - he better not even _think_ about -

Hermione on the couch at the Burrow, her blue dress not quite covering enough of her thighs. Her parted thighs, not quite enough, not quite - just a _bit _more -

"We've got some work to do. Come on Lee," Fred had George's elbow clamped tightly in his hand as he began to retreat down the hall, Lee in tow keeping himself situated between Hermione and Eddie at his back and George being tugged away discreetly as Harry said goodbye to the couple and followed after Ron away down the hall in the other direction.

"Stop _herding_ me," George growled, pulling his arm violently out of Fred's grip as soon as they turned the corner.

"Then stop looking at him like you're about to beat him into the ground for looking at her," Fred hissed back. "I don't know _what's _up with you, but since you haven't told me about it, I'll assume you're just being a dick, so cut it out."

George huffed and lengthened his strides determinedly, trying to knock the thoughts of what Eddie might have wanted to talk about, or what he might be trying to do with Hermione, _his _Hermione, any minute now.

It had hardly been a week but George could see Hermione's usual steadfastness and logical head disappearing. She was always leaning into his arm or his touch, however docile, and giving him the widest, most innocent eyes the boy had probably ever seen. And George knew what he was thinking, he was a guy as well.

And with a girl like Hermione, brilliant _and_ beautiful, he could see the gears turning in Eddie's mind.

A girl like Hermione, all regulation skirts that offered barely a handful of forbidden glimpses, and properly cinched uniform ties that gave way to no cheeky glances down her shirt on the average day.

A girl like Hermione with flushed cheeks and crossed legs and contented sighs in the library.

* * *

"What was it you wanted to speak about?" Hermione gazed up at Eddie patiently as everyone she had been walking to dinner with disappeared in opposite directions.

"Ah, well, I actually just wanted to use that as an excuse to tell you how lovely you look today," he shrugged with embarrassment and cast his eyes down at the floor. Eddie's shoes shuffled awkwardly and Hermione took a moment to appreciate the image of his dark eyelashes laying on his cheek and the bashful blush spreading on his cheeks under her gaze. They weren't ginger, but that hardly mattered, right?

"Oh, well - thank you," Hermione breathed, feeling her insides bubble up happily.

She had not kissed him. She had been putting it off as long as possible. It did not seem proper. He was a temporary distraction - just a distraction. And it was not right to use people like that. She could hardly deny that he was an attractive guy, because he was. Tall, lean, dark hair and eyes, always kind, just about as smart as her with a similar thirst for knowledge. The perfect kind of guy, yes?

But when she was around him, whenever she found herself longing to be touched or kissed, or when she rubbed her thighs together discreetly, her thoughts left the boy in front of her and landed squarely in the redheaded twin that made her blood still in her veins at the sight of him.

She couldn't stand to be around him most of the time, thinking of what he had done; she had tried to forgive him, truly. And even though he had turned Angela Sinclair away that morning right in front of her, she still felt the flare of jealous burning in her gut whenever she saw the girl in the halls or caught George looking at another female, regardless of their appearance.

But the desire - such _desire _ \- to just crawl into his arms, to pull George's head down to hers when he routinely caught her as she tripped over Fred's shoe, to have him push her firmly against the wall like he had before, it was all very overwhelming.

She saw the way he looked at her when he thought no one was paying attention.

She tried not to encourage it, but at the same time, she longed to feel his eyes on the back of her neck, or scooping over the curve of her waist, or smoothing down her exposed legs. She longed for that in a way she was not sure was healthy.

Well, of course it wasn't healthy.

It was the spell.

But why should she turn this down?

This other boy, who was good, who she could stand to be around. She could just try, right? She could try and see if it helped.

"You're very welcome," he responded and Hermione snapped back into reality.

"Forgive me for the suddenness, but -"

Hermione stood up on her tippy toes and wrapped a hand around Eddie's neck. His eyes were surprised for a split second before his lids fluttered closed as Hermione slanted her lips over his firmly.

* * *

**A/N: Any predictions?  
**

**Oh goodness, this story. **

**Thanks to Politelycynical for her unending help and assistance. She has recently posted the first chapter of a Fremoine AU, a western, and I must say she has done a fantastic job. I'm not usually one for AU's but this is _gold,_ so head over and give it a go. (If the twins as adventuring cowboys, schoolteacher Hermione, murder and intrigue and heartbreak - _utter heartbreak - _are your sort thing, seriously, go find it.)**

**As always, leave a review, you lovely people.**

**Until next time!**


	14. Chapter 14

Later that night, Hermione lay awake staring at the canopy of her bed with a dazed look on her face.

Eddie had been nothing but gentlemanly. After the shock of her making the first move and pressing her lips to his, he had kissed her soundly, although too briefly for her liking, before breaking it softly. Hermione's body had been humming pleasantly, and she had noted their closeness, memorized the slope of his nose, the curve of his eyelid as he had held her snugly to his chest. He had placed some slightly more chaste kisses to the corner of her mouth, laughing when she'd turned her head in an effort to catch his lips full-on again.

"I really like you, Hermione. I really do," he had said, finally seizing her in a lip lock again and Hermione had sighed into him. His hands had been clasped at her shoulders but he had moved them, squeezing her upper arms gently before threading one hand into her hair and the other trailing down to her waist to pull her close against him.

The tingles had been... pleasant, of course. But after the fact, she couldn't help but note that it hadn't felt quite the same as when George had kissed her angrily. Perhaps it was because it was in the heat of the moment? She didn't know.

Either way, they had kissed and kept hands to relatively docile areas until breaking for air had become a necessity and when they had finally trailed down to the Great Hall and separated for supper at their tables, Hermione had barely been able to focus on anything that Harry had said.

* * *

What was he going to do?

George still hadn't told anyone about the fact that he hadn't found any relief with Angela Sinclair and he was trying not to think about whether or not Hermione had found any with Eddie Carmichael. The thought of her walking around with damp underwear and being the only one capable to help her out was driving him to madness.

George's blood boiled every time he saw Hermione and that Ravenclaw prat about the school. They didn't even do things that screamed dating yet; they didn't hold hands, they didn't kiss in public, but it didn't matter. George was constantly on the verge of jumping the guy and Hermione must have noticed. She made every effort not to let their paths cross whenever she could help it, and George couldn't decide if he was thankful or not.

Every time she came back into the common room after seeing him, every time she waltzed into the Great Hall a little later than normal, her lips would be slightly swollen from kissing. Her uniform might be perfect save for one detail or another and the thought of Hermione being touched - kissed - by someone that wasn't him was infuriating.

As if it wasn't enough that he dealt with it all day long, he also couldn't sleep most nights and ended up stewing over the whole thing when he should have been getting rest. Merlin knew, he needed it. He was snapping at people, his eyes were dark, the circles beneath them darkening along with them and his patience was at about zero.

"George, I swear to Merlin, if you don't get your head out of your arse and stop cocking up that brew and wasting our ingredients, I'll bloody kick you out until you do!" Fred threatened one afternoon just over a week later.

George didn't even have anything to say. He knew Fred was right, and Lee was looking on silently, not willing to add to George's simmering mood.

"Look, maybe if you hadn't gone and done a very stupid thing, I wouldn't have had to step in and rectify the situation. But you did, so I did. I don't know what to do, George," Fred carried on and George shut his eyes, his head aching dully.

"I know," he groaned. "I know."

Fred sighed.

It had been weeks of this now, and George had tried to stop, to not be in a bad mood, to not glare the living shit out of that Eddie bloke. He had tried, for Fred and Lee's sake, not to be a grump all the time. But the fact was, hand holding and brushing fingers wasn't doing it anymore.

"Maybe if you ask her..." Lee started and George dropped his head to the desk in the unused classroom where they were working on a tentative project that induced daydreams.

"Oh yeah, she's likely to cave to my demands, I can see that happening," he snorted in response.

"Well," Fred started, his tone hesitant. "What is it exactly that you need? Like, what does this _thing_ feel like? You haven't actually said..."

He hadn't. George had avoided the subject at all costs, resorting to wanking furiously every night to relieve anything, though it hardly helped.

"It's..." George started, and stopped.

"We won't make fun of you, mate," Lee interjected. "I mean this whole thing is... messed up."

"You have no idea," George gave a bitter laugh, still staring at the table top resolutely. "It's like... this need to be close to her, to touch her, anything... and it never goes away. I want her, all the time. I have no idea how, but I know when she's close. Only her being close makes the -" he motioned vaguely at his head with a waving hand "- go away."

"What's _this_ mean?" Fred mimed the action.

"Confusion? No, it's more like... fuzzy. I can't think straight. I can't concentrate. I also get cold and can't get warm until she touches me again. I can't sleep more than a few hours at best. I have no patience; like this morning I wanted to shove that bloody Tentacula down Sprout's throat when she was yabbering on about those whatever-they-were's..."

"And when you say you _want_ her..." Lee asked.

"I mean, I always want her. I swear to Merlin I can smell her from the other side of the Great Hall, my hands shake and I just want to grab her and - and _make her mine_ \- I can't even think about that fucking moron touching her, it makes me so angry. It's like - it's like being led around with my cock in her hand _all_ the time. It's maddening."

"Wow," Fred and Lee echoed each other.

"Mate, that sounds terrible. How do you even -" Lee added.

"Nothing works. _Nothing_," he looked up finally, meeting Fred's eyes. "The only thing that helps is her."

"This is _really _messed up."

For the rest of their break the boys remained fairly silent before leaving for dinner. As they walked, he recalled Hermione returning to the common room the night before after spending all Sunday out with her new boyfriend. She had returned flushed and glowing, but something had felt off. She usually stopped to spare him a bit of conversation and some sort of touch before bed so that they could at least get a few hours of sleep, for which he was grateful. But this time she hadn't. She had looked tight, stiff, and she hadn't even glanced at him before disappearing up the steps to her dorm. George had been pondering over this all day, but hadn't seen her at all since to ask if she was okay.

That dickhead better not have done anything to her.

"I forgot how _wet_ virgins get."

George froze at the voice nearby in the quiet hallway, Fred and Lee freezing just as quickly. That couldn't be... _No._ He better not be talking about Hermione.

"I haven't had one in so long, I forgot how eager they were," Eddie was laughing and it sounded as though it was coming from the boys' bathroom a few steps away down the corridor.

George's blood burst into flames and he gritted his teeth and prayed that it wasn't him, and that he wasn't talking about Hermione - _his_ Hermione, _his_ \- and that he just shut up and didn't say anything more because George was shaking, shaking, flaring, heaving.

"Let's go." Fred tugged him into motion again, his eyes panicked and Lee nodded quickly, observing George's face and the vein in his neck pulse. "Let's go before you do something you'll regret."

* * *

What had she let Eddie _do_?

_Urgh_, the thought of it made her cringe.

By anyone's standards it wasn't much, it wasn't bad, and it had felt good to let him kiss her and trail his fingertips over her stomach, the tops of her breasts, over her thighs. She had barely held control of herself to keep from keening under his hands and letting on just how tightly she was wound and how badly she was shaking with the need for release.

Eddie had groaned deeply, sending shivers over her entire body, when his fingers had found the centre of her underwear the night previously. Hermione remembered how flushed he was, she remembered the feel of his hips and hardness pressing into her inner thigh as his fingers wandered.

He slipped so easily over her when she had nodded at his silent question of whether or not to continue on his mission. The feeling was sublime, so _delicious_, the feeling of fingers that were not her own gliding over her centre, so limb-shakingly good.

Hermione remembered gripping his upper arm with one hand while the other held her up on the desk as he curved over her, rubbing against her insistently. It was heady, it was humid with hot breaths shared, and it rattled her nerve ending like nails on a chalkboard, but somehow it was relief.

That was - until she realized that no matter how many times he slicked his fingers against her and kissed her deeply, no matter how often he reached to fondle a breast, no matter how _good _it all felt the whole time - she was not going to come.

It had been a torturous, unbearable realization as he had circled her bundle of nerves with practiced ease, making her want desperately to break apart under him and cry out her frustrations. Lisa Turpin had been right in her recommendation, he was good at it.

But Hermione was never going to know for sure, because Eddie Carmichael could not make her come.

She had tipped her head back and faked an orgasm to the best of her abilities with her centre throbbing for release she wasn't getting, and her limbs tired of holding herself up. Her brain had been foggy and she had felt the prickle of a tear in the corner of her eyes. It had been torture.

Thankfully, Eddie had eased up and when she insisted that she had to return to Gryffindor Tower a minute later, he hadn't seemed too upset over Hermione not reciprocating. In all honesty, she had had to get away from him, to have a minute alone, to mourn a little. To cry and scream and stomp and wail a little, before she had to return to the dorms and pretend as though nothing was wrong. She had showered and scrubbed her skin raw trying to erase the feeling of his fingers against her, feeling dirty, feeling like - like - she didn't know. She had been raised better than that, and she was disappointed in herself.

As she wandered down to dinner after an hour and half of hearing Delores Umbridge spew frustratingly bigoted non-sense, Harry and Ron were ahead of her leading the way.

* * *

"She was _begging_ for it, Jack, you should have heard her. '_Oh, please, please, oh please, more, please Eddie_'," his voice grew higher and breathier, imitating Hermione with a laugh and George snapped instantaneously.

He ripped his arm away from Fred in a heartbeat and rounded into the bathroom just as the Ravenclaw was drying off his hands and slinging his bag over his shoulder again, his friend smirking widely from where we was leaning loosely against the sinks waiting for him. George could hear Fred calling to him, he could hear Lee running after him, he could hear his heartbeat racing in his ears, a rushing, throbbing, racing feeling.

The Ravenclaws looked up, Eddie's face registering shock at the sudden intrusion before smugness settled into his features and George barely held back a growl at the expression. How dare he stand there and smirk at him, smirk at him over Hermione, that _fucking _arsehole -

"Did you want to hear all about it too?" Eddie laughed, taking in George's red face.

_The little shit._

George drew himself up to his full height, a hard glare fixed on the sixth year, who seemed to momentarily stumble in his cockiness.

"George!" Fred came around the corner.

"Leave it, mate," Lee heaved a breath, stopping at George's shoulder.

"Oh, you don't like that I get to -" Eddie started again, clearly not realizing the extent to which he was taunting George, how close George was to lunging at him and grinding his face into the stone for speaking of _his_ Hermione that way.

And this time he didn't stop himself, and Lee and Fred were not quick enough to seize him before he reached the sixth year. George could hear their yelling in the background, mixed with the yelling of Eddie's friend, but it hardly registered, it hardly mattered at all. Because George was finally seizing the twat by his robes before hauling back, completely forgetting about the wand in his pocket, and slamming his fist into the side of his fucking face with a sickening _smack_.

Pain reverberated up his arm, but George didn't stop.

"Don't _ever_ -" he drew back again and let his fist fly once more, "-speak about her that way _again_, do you hear me, you fucking dickhead?"

Hands were tugging at George's arms, trying to pull him away from Eddie who was looking at him with a dazed look in his eye, one side of his face blooming with redness. George shrugged the hands off and Eddie lost his balance, falling backwards, and George followed after him. Pinning the fucker to the floor, he landed another punch, splitting his lip and a burst of twisted pleasure erupted in George's chest at the sight. How _dare _this arsehole use Hermione like that, and not treat her with the respect she deserved? Did he think that he would get away with that? Not on George's watch.

"I didn't - I wasn't - stop, _stop_," he was fighting, his hands and arms trying to defend himself but George wrenched them out of the way and brought his elbow back again.

_WHAM_.

The breath was knocked from George's lungs as he was thrown firmly from his position on his knees over Eddie Carmichael, knocked sideways and gasping on his back.

"Mr. Weasley!" the shrill voice of Filius Flitwick rang clear through the room as George struggled to heave in a breath. He could hear the sounds of Eddie scrambling next to him, trying to get away, the _coward _-

"What is the meaning of this?" Flitwick demanded largely, in stark contrast to his size.

"Professor, I was just washing my hands and this _lunatic_ comes barging in here and starts beating on me -"

"That was _not_ what happened -" Lee was protesting.

"You were in here saying vulgar things about one of our friends -" Fred continued loudly, his voice ringing.

"You can hardly just expect to get away with that -" Carmichael's friend was insisting with a red face and George finally sat up, raising his hand to clutch his head and hissing. His hand seared sharply and George looked down at his aching knuckles to find them split and still slightly numb considering the shock. That was going to fade momentarily, surely.

"That's enough!" Flitwick demanded, looking around the bathroom at the boys. "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Carmichael, you will each serve a week of detention with me beginning tonight after dinner, and I think fifty points from each house is fair," he said decisively. "Mr. Reed, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Jordan, you ought to escort your friends to the Hospital Wing and get them cleaned up. Do not forget detention, gentlemen, and do not engage in physical brawls again, or it will be much worse."

George and Eddie glared at each other gratingly, chests still heaving, until his friend distracted him and urged him in the direction of Madam Pomfrey.

"This isn't over," he gritted at George, who gave him a darkly derisive grin in return.

"You can bet your arse it isn't," he growled back and Fred stepped between them, pulling George to his feet.

"Get out of here if you know what's good for you," Lee reacted viciously and George felt his chest expand with his friend's loyalness.

The two left, Carmichael reaching up to feel the swelling on the side of his face and the blood trickling down from his bottom lip with disgust.

"Woah, mate, you need to calm down before we go anywhere - you look like you're about to blow another gasket or commit murder maybe -"

"I can't wait - I have to find Hermione," George insisted quickly.

He had to find her before Carmichael did and spun a story of George beating on him for no reason whatsoever; she would never speak to him again if she believed that George had attacked her boyfriend, she wouldn't listen to his side of the story, about how her boyfriend was a giant wanker and speaking about her like she was nothing, with no respect -

"Maybe take a breath first, you've got blood -" Fred started, but George shook his head and brushed between the two of them, his heart beating even faster as he rushed toward the Great Hall.

It was nearly dinner time, she was sure to be somewhere close to the dining hall and George scanned the groups of people inside as he stood at the door and poked his head around. He held his hand close to his side and tried not to jostle it. It was aching and stinging and if he concentrated he was sure he could _feel_ it swelling, but it didn't matter because he had hauled off and punched the satisfied smirk off of Eddie Carmichael's face.

_SMACK_, the sound had been so satisfactory, especially with that first hit.

Turning when he didn't spot Hermione's head of wild brown curls, George scanned the people coming in droves down the staircases and tried to locate her in the bustle.

"Hey, George - are you okay?" Ron's voice asked from off to the side and George snapped his gaze over, looking for Hermione.

"No, I'm - well, yeah - I don't know, have you seen Hermione, I need to talk to her -"

"She's just behind us," Harry cast a glance over his shoulder and a moment later, pointed a few metres away up the closest staircase. "She's just there - are you sure you don't want to go to the Hospital Wing?"

"Not just yet," George rushed out, locating Hermione's surprised face as her gaze landed on him.

George's insides flared to life, buoying his spirits and bubbling him up at the sight of her as she took in his appearance, pushing through the crowd toward her.

"George?" she asked, stepping carefully and looking down briefly so that she didn't trip in her haste to get to him, his desperation obviously evident to her. "Are you alright?"

"I got detention," spilled out of his mouth before he could think.

"Were you caught in a closet with Angela Sinclair again?" Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her words cutting and sharp, making him shake with frustration. She _needed_ to understand. "Because I can't get you out of it, George, and I wouldn't even if I could -"

"I punched your boyfriend," George interrupted the beginning of her rant before she got going and she looked at him sharply. When he raised his right hand for her to see, he realised Fred had been right. There was blood crusted on his knuckles and smeared down his wrist and onto the sleeve of his uniform, crisp white stained a dark rusty red. Pride swelled in his chest once more and he tried very hard to keep the satisfied smirk off his face for her benefit.

"_What_?" she breathed.

They had not moved, Hermione standing on the last step of the stairs with people moving around them and George standing a few feet away. They were locked on each other and George could see the steam building behind her eyes as she processed what he was saying, and whose blood must, in part, be coating his fist.

"I don't regret it," he stated clearly and they both continued to breath heavily, their gazes unwavering. Hermione remained silent for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth between his.

"Are you alright?" she settled on asking, breaking the spell and shifting. Was she pressing her thighs together?

No.

She couldn't be... She couldn't be _turned on_ right now, could she? Hermione Granger turned on by George Weasley beating the shit out of her boyfriend? Not in a million years... Except -

"I'm fine," he ground out, his teeth clenched with the effort of not bombarding her with questions, of not lunging also at _her_, but this time in order to pull her close and crush her underneath the weight of him, to claim her mouth as his, to grip her arsecheek in his hand and squeeze until she arched up for him -

"Let me see," she held out her hand, her stance relaxing and her palm open and facing up for him to place his appendage in it freely for her examination.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" he puzzled, his voice growing quieter as he took a few steps closer to her body. The pleasant humming he associated with their proximity grew more insistent and he sighed.

"I assume you have a good reason," she reached out a little farther in emphasis and George lowered his wrist into her palm gently, not wanting to move his finger if at all possible. "Though I probably shouldn't assume anything with you - _uuuurgh_!"

George startled, having been relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages, being in her presence and being certain that he was about to touch her and maybe, possibly, get some sleep tonight. He had just settled his palm in hers as she leaned forward to have a closer look when her knees gave out under her and she slumped forward into him suddenly, her weight landing on him without warning.

"Hermione!"

The tone of her voice at the end sent a shiver down his spine as her front collapsed into him and he stepped forward to catch her and hold her upright. His limbs protested, especially his right side, but he held her smaller body tightly as she shook in his arms, limp. Her head found the nook of his neck and shoulder and her hot breath gasped out onto the skin there, making his hair stand on end.

"_Ahhhhh_," she gave a strangled groan and shook violently before stilling somewhat and twitching in his grasp.

"Are you alright?" he asked urgently, pulling back to observe her face.

It was contorted in something akin to pleasure, or pain, he couldn't really tell. It could be either. The tightness in her expression was gone, the same tightness that he had seen growing since September. Her eyelashes fluttered lazily, tiredly on her cheek before opening again, her gaze unfocused but bright. The most flattering blush spread on her cheeks and George shifted her in his arms again.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, hesitant, his eyes squinting.

Hermione looked satisfied. And content. And at ease. And her limbs were still twitching. She was beginning to hold her own weight again, beginning to straighten languidly.

"I need to sit down," she breathed, sinking to the step below her and slumping tiredly. Hermione gazed up at him with soft, bright eyes, an awkward smile quirking her lips. George could see the haze clearing from her eyes and her grow more anxious in front him on the step as he stood before her.

_Did she just..._

George's pants grew tighter at the incomplete, totally outrageous thought.

"George, I think - I think touching you just made me..." Hermione inclined her head and lowered her voice to a halting whisper. "_I think I just came_."

George's jaw dropped open.

Bloody fucking hell, this woman was going to be the death of him.

* * *

**A/N: I cannot resist a fighting George Weasley.  
**

**Call me weak (if you must).**

**And then leave a review!**

**Cheers**

**(Third time's a charm! I tried posting this last night as well but something was up with the site. If you got a handful of emails, I apologize!)**


	15. Chapter 15

That had been both the most embarrassingly mortifying and sweetly relieving situation of her short life. If someone would have told her four months ago - four _hours_ ago - that she would have been finishing class on a Monday evening and heading for dinner and completely accidentally and unexpectedly fallen to pieces in George Weasley's arms, she would have called that person mental.

George was still looking down at her with a piercing look in his eyes but Hermione couldn't care about anything at the moment aside from the fact that she felt _wonderful_. Perhaps she hadn't realized her discomfort in her own skin because it had been a gradual and mounting situation, but just minutes ago she had been exhausted, unfocused, drained, cold, tense, tight - and now - loose, languid, warm, content and pleasantly tired with droopy eyelids.

George cleared his throat.

"Can you just sit for a moment?" Hermione motioned to the step next to her and dropped her forehead into her palm, twisting to watch as he abided by her request stiffly. "Sorry, I don't know -"

"You really don't have to apologize," he quickly shook his head. "I didn't even know that could happen," he continued with a bit of awe tinged in his voice.

"Well, I hardly expected it either," Hermione breathed, feeling the blush rear its ugly head.

She had just... _in his arms_.

Every time her mind stopped to consider what had actually just taken place in the middle of the Entrance Hall, the part of her brain that couldn't give a damn because finally - _finally_ \- she had found some relief won out over every other thought.

George - eyes blazing, coming straight for her, bloody hand -

"Oh!" she exclaimed in realization. "Are you alright? I completely forgot about your hand - did I hurt you?"

"I - uh - I completely forgot too, actually." He shifted and lifted his right hand again. "No, it's fine. I'll trot off to see Pomfrey in a minute."

Silence settled over them as a few more stragglers wandered down for dinner and into the Great Hall. Harry and Ron had long since disappeared, the call of sustenance far too great to keep Ron from following its siren song. As the echoing of uniform shoes died out, realization was settling over Hermione; it didn't matter what she wanted, whether it be Eddie Carmichael or some other boy, the fact of the matter was that - at least until the spell wore off - George Weasley was the only male for her.

Tilting her head again and feeling some stray end-of-the-day hairs brush over her cheeks, she observed him. His long legs were bent with his elbows resting on them and he was hunched over with his face resting in his cradled hands.

"Are you actually all right?" she asked quietly.

"I have no fucking clue, Granger," he said after a long pause. More silence. "Are you mad at me for decking your boyfriend?"

"That depends entirely on why you did it, and... well, I don't think it would have worked out anyway," Hermione confessed and George raised his head to gaze at her. There was a flicker there, but she didn't know what it was.

"And why's that?" George asked, his eyebrows now in his hairline.

"Why don't we talk about it later?" Hermione suggested. "Maybe _after _I tell him that we're... not going to work. You said you have detention tonight, you should probably go get cleaned up so that you can have dinner before going."

George regarded her silently again, his eyes tracing along her jaw, the shell of her ear and the curve of her cheek, leaving a barely-felt trail behind them.

"He was saying things about you, things he shouldn't have," George lowered his eyes back to his feet and Hermione's insides froze.

"He what?" she couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had said, though considering the events of the previous evening, she could give it a good guess.

"Things - about you and him - he was telling a friend in the bathroom, and I heard him out in the hall. Fred and Lee tried to stop me but..." George shook his head, his shoulders hunching.

George Weasley had defended her honour?

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling suddenly very small under the arched carved ceilings of the giant castle, but most importantly, beside him. Even perched on the stairs he was long, lanky, tall, all legs and elbows and knees. "Did you - ah - have any problems with Angela Sinclair? That time we caught you in the classroom?"

Straight to the point then.

"I... what do you mean?" George's voice took on a strangled quality.

"Well, I don't know what you heard Eddie say but in the end I had to sort of... make him think he'd got the job done so that he'd _stop _touching me. Because - well, I wasn't going to - it just wasn't happening, so I - do you know what I'm saying?" she tried and failed to complete any sentence that might help him understand but he seemed to get the point.

"You're telling me that he didn't help you out with our situation?" George's eyes fluttered shut and his breathing was taking on an uneven quality.

"He _couldn't_, if that makes any sense to you," Hermione nodded and looked back down at the floor herself. "So, uhm, what do we do about this?" She was thanking the heavens that her head had completely cleared for once since September. Unfortunately, George didn't have that liberty.

"Well, you seem a lot... _better_ now that you've..." George answered slowly.

"Do you want...?" she held out her hand in offering for him to take and he eyed it longingly, lighting a niggling feeling in the back of her head.

"Er, Fred isn't around," he stated, as though she had somehow not realized that they weren't being supervised by his twin. Fred had not left them alone or left it up to them when they would touch. He masterminded the whole thing, which Hermione had been grateful for up until the point when she could actually speak to George again after the night when she and Ron had found him alone with some Hufflepuff and Hermione had immediately felt outrageously offended.

"I think we ought to figure out how to deal with this again without assistance," she said simply, moving her hand again in his direction and urging him to take it. He had to be uncomfortable, the look on his face was making her want to offer anything to help.

This time he didn't stop her.

George usually let Hermione lay her hand on his arm, or on the back of his wrist, where she could pull away at a moment's notice if she was so inclined. This time was not like that. George reached out almost instantaneously with his good hand, sliding their palms together and lacing his fingers with hers. A concentrated breath issued from his chest and he closed his eyes again. The lines on his face spoke of the delicate balance of pain, frustration, daily torture and relief that she was intimately familiar with, and so she scooted closer on the step and closed the gap between their sides. He had not changed his position on the steps, his long legs still open and peaked at the knee; in contrast, Hermione was now sitting rather close, close enough that her right thigh was pressed lightly to his left, and her legs were much shorter. There was no risk of exposing too much skin for she had donned tights that morning to ward off the cold of the castle but her knees still sat together primly.

Hermione could feel the connection - she could always feel it - but it didn't cause her to clench or inhale suddenly at its intensity this time around. It still hummed happily, but it paddled idly through her blood, warming gently as opposed to flaring to life and preparing her to spring on him.

George, however, was still experiencing the more intense sensations and Hermione sighed. He had just resorted to physical violence, which she had never seen him do outside of the Quidditch Pitch, all to defend her. Perhaps he had paid his penance, at least in part.

"Here," she uttered, startling him out of his thoughts. Hermione squeezed his hand a little and tugged it toward her. Blinking up and him as he short her wary and hesitant looks, she tutted. George proceeded to let her pull their entwined hands, forearms pressed together, into her lap. Hermione heard the very distinct noise he made at the back of his throat. When she settled it warmly on top of her thighs, she let her other hand settle over their fingers and stilled.

All of this was new. All of this was strange. This was uncharted territory.

George scooted closer and dropped his forehead to her shorter shoulder.

"What are we going to _do, _Hermione? I've cocked everything up," he said morosely.

"_You're _going to go to detention and _I'm _going to try and come up with something," she answered logically. Having maximum brain function back was a _wonderful thing_.

They eventually separated and George left for the Hospital Wing and Hermione finally entered the Great Hall.

"Where've you been?" Ron gave her a frown. "Talking to George this _whole_ time?"

"Yes, actually," Hermione sat and filled her bowl with stew. "He got detention."

"Before you say anything, I've tried to get them to stop and you _know_ they don't listen -" Ron defended himself and Hermione shook her head with a laugh.

"I know, Ron. It was actually for attacking Eddie Carmichael," she elaborated.

"...And you aren't ticked because...?" Harry asked slowly, confused.

"Don't get all ruffled, because George already took care of it, but apparently he was saying some less than savoury things about me," Hermione tried not to look like she was avoiding their eyes.

"He _what_?" Harry craned his neck around and searched the Ravenclaw table hastily, eyes flashing.

"That little -" Ron sputtered. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Firstly, I can take care of myself thank you, and secondly, George has already pummelled his face. I think we can lay it to rest as long as he doesn't continue, don't you?"

"Did he really?" Ron asked curiously, while Harry kept glancing around hoping to catch sight of the sixth year.

"Do you think your mum will be furious?" she asked lightly, hoping for George's sake that he wasn't going be in too much trouble when they went home at the end of the week.

"Nah," Ron shook his head. "Not once she hears why he did it. She'd prefer we didn't resort to knocking blocks off, but if it's in your defence..."

"Where's George then?" Harry inquired.

"He went to the Hospital Wing, and then he has detention with Flitwick," Hermione responded, glad that the dark-haired wizard seemed to have calmed in the minute since her admission.

* * *

Thankfully, by the time George had made it to the Hospital Wing, Eddie Carmichael was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was hiding in his common room, the cowardly prick. Still quite discombobulated, George wandered in and poked around for Pomfrey as the ward was completely silent.

"Mr. Weasley."

Her voice startled him and he turned around to find her having emerged from behind a partition silently.

"I was told you had been into fighting this afternoon," she continued, motioning for him to sit on a cot and he gratefully followed her direction.

"You could say that," he laughed half-heartedly, his body tired and slumping. "Though I would say it wasn't much of a fight, Poppy, considering what Carmichael's face looked like as he was hobbling away."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a stern look and he laughed.

"Would you be a dear and fix up my hand? The other side of his face needs tending to," he cracked a grin.

"Mr. Weasley! You had better not go after that boy again! If you do…" she threatened. "Well, let's just say that a certain person who is new to Hogwarts might have something to say about the matter and attracting attention from that person is never a great idea."

"Oh, so cryptic," he held out his hand and she tutted just as Hermione had over it. He hissed as she waved her wand over the splits in his knuckles, mending the skin after cleaning it thoroughly.

"Not another peep out of you," she shifted her gaze back to his face and waggled a finger. "You've done it to yourself, and I shan't be making the healing any less painful because of it."

"Tough love suits you," George gave a solemn nod.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand again and the bones in his hand stung sharply, painfully.

"Bugger," George hissed and ducked her other hand as it came down to rap him smartly on the head. She gave him a pointed look and he tried to look guilty, though unsuccessfully.

"Once I've finished with this, you aren't to go using it for anything but schoolwork; it's going to be sore and there isn't much a can do about it. By this time tomorrow the bones will be healed but before then, _nothing strenuous_."

George blinked.

That was going to be a doozy to deal with. Not only did he have detention tonight that would likely include cleaning of some variety – without magic – but he also needed to take care of the business Granger had left him to deal with when she had all but admitted that he was the only answer to her relief. He had not anticipated that it would affect him so strongly, but the feelings – mine, she's _mine_, this proves it, it's a fact – had come back in full force and his mind would not drop them for a moment.

It had been a challenge to walk away from her, to leave her to eat dinner, to let her fend for herself when Eddie might come around the corner any moment. His only consolation had been that Harry and Ron were with her, and they would not let him near her once she told them what he had done.

And how was he going to explain that?

_Oh, yes, I heard him speaking about her like a piece of meat, and I couldn't control my urge to break his face with my fist because she's _mine_ and nobody speaks about her that way._

He knew Ron's first question would be why, even though Ron would likely do the very same thing if given the chance. George sincerely hoped that Eddie Carmichael's face was sore for weeks, though with magic involved that would hardly be the case.

And through all of this, did Hermione actually suffer through being teased to the brink and tormented, albeit unintentional, _all day_? How could she even possibly remain sane on the edge of orgasm – and with Umbridge's class to test her patience too?

A vision of Hermione, laid out in her school uniform this time, on the couch at the Burrow, nose in a book, just exactly like she had been in that _bloody_ blue dress sprung to mind. What sound would she make if he were to peel her tights down over her hips and off her legs? Surely something –

"You're set to go," Pomfrey interrupted his daydream. "Off with you."

"Pleasure doing business, Poppy!" George waited until the matron had turned her back to spring up and dash speedily out of the Hospital Wing, hand tingling and aching and wrapped in fresh bandages to keep it from being jarred while healing.

Thinking of the detention with Eddie that crept closer by the minute, a dark look crossed his face as he slowed his steps in the corridor. Hopefully Flitwick would get them doing separate tasks and they wouldn't have to even look at one another.

"Ah, gentlemen," the squeaky-voiced professor greeted the pair of them a quarter of an hour later. They were both slumped against opposite sides of the corridor outside of his Charms classroom, George having fixed him with a hard glare the moment the other boy had rounded the corner to wait with him. "Come, come, the faster you get your task done, the faster you may go."

Fortunately for them, the task did not involve teamwork in the sense of having to be near one another, only so far as being in the same classroom.

"I should like for you to take these," Flitwick conjuring two short metal spatula-looking things and handed them up to the boys, "and scrape all of the gum off the bottoms of these desks."

Flitwick opened the door to an old classroom next to his usual one with a flourish and large grin.

"Divide the work evenly, and get through it without fighting again - and in a timely manner - and I shall reconsider the punishment term of a week and perhaps be happy to let you go free after tonight." With that promise, he left and snapped the door shut behind his short form. Both boys dropped their school bags and without looking at each other, took opposite sides of the room.

George tried his very hardest to leave it well enough alone, to keep his eyes down, for his concentration was shoddy at best and he didn't want any more trouble for the day.

_This isn't over._

_Of course it isn't._

The words the two had exchanged were floating in the forefront of his mind. It still wasn't. Fred, Lee and him would find a way to get back at Carmichael, but with Hermione on the brain, it was not a good idea to try and be logical and precise.

Hermione –

The sighs of breath on his neck, the trembling body, and how had he forgotten their comparative sizes? She was much smaller in stature than him and he had wanted nothing more than to curl around her as she had very nearly avoided weeping with relief. And in his arms, no less.

If a mere touch of hands could do that…

The possibilities were endless.

_Not in detention, they weren't_.

And with the boy who had most recently had his hands on her.

George felt his neck heat and his pulse thrum at the thought.

No need to get worked up.

Had she broken up with him officially yet? Had she told him where to stuff his bloody awful treatment of her? And it was a coward's way, to speak behind someone's back. And fake. He had been fake to some degree in order to gain her trust, though George could assume that under normal circumstances, Hermione would have seen through it and not let herself be taken advantage of by a bloke who wasn't deserving of her. Because she did deserve to be treated better than being bragged about in the toilets.

If _he_ had been Eddie –

"I take it you're quite chuffed with yourself for getting to Hermione first," Eddie broke the silence and George stilled momentarily before continuing without a word.

"But I suppose that having so many brothers made you a bit of a tattletale," he carried on, like he was musing out loud.

George took a slow breath, feeling his internal body temperature heat the air in his lungs immediately.

"You must really think she's something special if you're willing to risk detention these days."

"She _is_ something special," George cracked and gritted out. "Just because _you_ can't see it -"

"Oh, I saw it alright. I saw it _all_," Eddie commented lightly and George clenched his hand tighter around his scraper. The effort it was taking to keep working at the gum under the desk he was working on and not turn and mutilate his face with it was growing with every word the boy said.

A calming breath.

"Not the way _she_ tells it," George fired back smoothly.

"Or so you say. I imagine you're quite jealous that I've had the chance to get up her skirt before you have -"

"You don't know anything about me, so don't pretend that you do," George uttered.

Hermione had come in _his_ arms, _his_, and not Eddie's and that counted for something, really, it counted for _everything_ if you thought about it. George had been the one to catch her and feel her muscles tense and shake in his hands and _this little shit_ had no idea, no idea at all, that he when he had been with Hermione, all her body had been craving was _George's_ touch and nothing else.

And nothing was going to change that.

"I know that even though you're friends, I still managed to catch her eye over you," Eddie scoffed. "Pity for you, because like I said earlier, she was ripe for the plucking -"

Before Eddie even had the chance to inhale sharply, George was across the room and holding him at wand point this time. He was pressing the tip into the flesh of Eddie's throat and George had to still his own movements and take a second to gather his raging thoughts. Hermione would probably be mad with him if he had a burst of accidental magic and unintentionally took the slimeball's head off, even if he _was_ a slimeball. She was like that.

"Let's get one thing straight, you and I. I don't want to hear another word about her out of your mouth - good or bad - or I'll beat you so hard your face will concave and even your own bloody mother won't recognize what I leave behind. You stay the _fuck_ away from her or I will not hesitate to grind your face into the floor of the Entrance Hall. Are we clear?"

The rest of detention went swimmingly in George's opinion.

* * *

Hermione wrung her hands together.

She really hoped that George and Eddie's detention was going smoothly with no hiccups for either of them. She had encountered Eddie in the Great Hall as she was leaving dinner to return to the common room with Harry and Ron. On either side of her form, the tall boys were at eye-level with Eddie and each had fixed him with a frosty glare as they took in the purple and yellow bruise on his face that was fading quickly due to the help of magic. His friend Jack had been there beside him as well, and all in all Hermione hoped never to repeat the occasion.

"Hermione -" Eddie had started, making to reach for her.

"I don't want to talk to you, Eddie." Hermione had stood her ground.

"I don't know what Weasley told you but -" His face had been panicked.

"I know what you were saying in the toilets. I was already going to tell you that I'd rather not continue seeing you, but this just confirms that I'd made the right decision," she had explained simply and Eddie had balked.

It was perhaps a good thing that she had run into George earlier, for the concentration she now had only aided her in her eloquence and she had found it very easy to cut off his protests without so much as breaking a sweat. She had finished, and the three of them left the two Ravenclaws standing there in the middle of the Great Hall, Eddie looking more than a little miffed.

Now, Hermione was sitting on her bed in her mismatched pyjamas, an old camp shirt and some flannel bottoms, and contemplating the day in general.

It had been going the direction of Worst Monday Ever before she had seen George pushing through the crowd of hungry students on the staircase leading to the Great Hall.

_I punched your boyfriend._

The feeling that had swollen up to fill her chest snuggly had been… what? Satisfaction? Warmth? The feeling of being protected, guarded… safe?

Of course she disagreed with his methods; physical violence was usually never necessary, but considering how tightly he was wound at the time, she could not fault him for his reaction.

Considering the intense feelings she had kept under wraps when that Angela girl had come hunting him a few weeks ago, she could definitely sympathize.

A knock at the door jarred her out of her thoughts and she slid to the floor to answer it.

"Hello, again," Fred greeted with a tight smile.

"Hi," Hermione responded. "Why are you on the girls' stairs again?"

"I was hoping that you would be so kind as to come and make my brother shut up," Fred hedged with a grimace.

"What?" Hermione was confused.

"He, ah, won't shut up. I think he's – well, it's been a rough day I suppose and he – well – why don't you just come and see for yourself? I have a sneaking suspicion that you're the only person that can help," he tried to explain. "Sorry to ask, Hermione, I just don't know…"

"It's fine," she nodded. George had unwittingly helped her earlier and so the least she could do was try and help him as well.

"He's a bit – intense – just so you know," Fred mumbled as Hermione slipped her feet into her slippers and followed him down the girls' stairs and up the boys'. It was nearly eight, not curfew yet but being Monday, a lot of the Gryffindors had returned from their clubs and study groups, filling the common room pleasantly with noise and chatter as well as a crackling fire.

"Alright…" she responded, a questioning lilt to her tone. Had something gone wrong? Was George having some sort of fit?

She quickly discovered what Fred had meant. George's voice could be heard, indistinctly, through the wood dormitory door and it seemed to have taken on a vicious tinge since she had seen him last.

"Georgie," Fred called as he opened the door, halting George's incessant ranting immediately. Hermione heard Lee's sigh of contentment and grimaced. "I have Granger here but you have to _shut up_. Alright?"

"Oi, you didn't have to -"

"Yes, I know. For your sake, stop talking," Fred turned and ushered her into the seventh year dorm and Hermione got her first glance at George.

Her heart ached for him.

Earlier he had been tired and sallow and lacking energy, just as she had been, but something must have changed since she had seen him last. His brow was furrowed, his face was drawn and his cheeks were flush. More than anything though, his eyes drew her attention. They were dark, so dark, and they rooted her to the spot when they landed on her.

"Hermione." It was a statement.

"Are you alright?" she asked tentatively.

"I – uh – in theory," he concluded shortly, breaking his intense fixation on her as she swayed just inside the doorway.

"If you're okay with it, Lee and I are just going to step out while you… do whatever you have to," Fred finished lamely.

"That's perfectly fine," Hermione didn't even look away from George and took a few more steps into the room as the two other boys vacated quickly.

When the door closed behind their retreating forms, silence filled the space between the two expectantly.

"I get the feeling something is wrong," Hermione started, realizing he was not going to break the pause. "Did something happen during detention? Did Eddie say something else that -"

"He did, but he won't be saying any more about anything to do with you, I assure you," he responded lowly while dropping his gaze and Hermione's gut twisted.

"Did you hit him again?" she grimaced.

"Not this time," he laughed derisively, harshly. "I threatened him with my wand and a lot of pain. If he _ever_ speaks to you again, you tell me."

A shiver of warning and something else largely undefinable rippled down Hermione's spine as she nodded.

His gaze snapped up again to meet hers intently.

"Yes, of course," she stammered, suddenly flustered and not quite grasping how she had gone from calm and organized to fluttering about inside with heat blooming on her cheeks in less than thirty seconds.

"Good." It was final and he nodded to himself sharply at her vocalized answer.

"Can I, uhm, can I help you? I feel like I need to do something…" Hermione spoke up a moment later, his dark brooding completely uncharacteristic. "I think we ought to, ah, figure out a way to… well, when I… you know, in the Entrance Hall, I think you would benefit from, uhm, the same thing."

"I've already tried, Hermione. It doesn't help anymore. I'm way past having a furious wank to try and get some sleep," he gritted out and Hermione cast her eyes about the room in desperation.

They _had_ to have this conversation. It was clear that he had reached his wits end.

"Oh, bother," she breathed and he looked up again from his studious carpet gazing. "I mean, we need to find a happy medium; you're going to go mental if you don't come."

"I just said, I've tried, I try all the time, and it never -"

"I meant with _me_!" Hermione forced out. "I know it's awkward but we have to find a way because I guarantee you'll feel better after, George, I feel _so_ much better now."

Hermione watched as his chest expanded and contracted in the most controlled manner she had ever seen. Well, perhaps it was his overall intense demeanour, the piercing quality of his eyes, his nostrils flaring and his teeth grinding together and making his jaw muscle tense.

Hermione still hadn't moved closer to him, standing in the centre of the room as he sat on his bed hunched over with his elbows on his knees. George was looking up at her with an unreadable expression, gazing at her steadily through his eyelashes, unblinking.

"You can't -" his voice cracked then, and Hermione resisted the urge to reach out for him until he had finished. "I don't – I can't think, but – I mean, I can't think of anything _else_ but -"

"I know," she breathed. "Let me, uhm, think of something…"

What could they do?

She wasn't about to reach into his pants – as much as her hand was twitching to do – and help him out directly. Maybe she could help just the same way he had helped her? In a more controlled and private setting?

Well, they were already in a dorm.

But, oh, watching him would be far too much of a – well, a – a _temptation_, so she would have to keep her eyes closed or something between them or…

"Er, how do you feel about the shower?" Hermione suggested on a whim. He could be inside and she outside and there would be no crossover.

A strangled noise issued from his throat and he shifted in his seat.

"Alright, let's, uhm… Go get in the shower and call for me when you're in," she started the ball rolling.

In the blink of an eye, George was striding for the bathroom and pulling his shirt over his head without preamble. Naked skin came into view quickly and Hermione flustered, raising a hand to cover her eyes quickly. The image of his Quidditch-trained back was seared into the back of her eyelids and she sighed, trying to find patience somewhere in her to do this without…

Remaining mortified for the rest of her life.

The sound of the first drops of water hitting the bathtub startled her, and she realized her nerves were rather put on edge by this whole thing. Rustling, flumping, rattling –

"Ready," came George's response, gritty and pained.

Rustling up her courage, Hermione strode in after him, the hot water already starting to fog up the small bathroom, and shut the door behind her, sealing them in.

She could do this.

This was necessary.

"Okay, I'll uhm – I'll sit right here on the edge of the tub and when you're ready, I'll give you my hand to touch," she blushed a furious shade of red, but luckily George was hidden from view and he couldn't see her.

"Are you – ah – sure about this?" he sounded as though he wasn't sure why he was even asking, why he was looking a gift horse in the mouth. Hermione scooted her behind to rest on the very edge of the tub and angled so that she could get her arm around the shower curtain at her side when he indicated he was ready. Leaning back, the cool tile spread a chill through her thin shirt, prickling the skin of her back.

"Well, yes," she answered. "Just pretend I'm not here, I suppose."

"That's likely," he breathed sarcastically, and she could see his point. There was no circumstance in which _she_ would be able to touch herself with George less than a foot from her, hidden by a thin plastic sheet, and just _forget _that he was there.

Water splashed around, the sound of it thankfully soothing, and Hermione waited for any indication he had started. There was nothing, just pounding water and the sound of his shifting his feet. She crossed her legs, one pink slipper dangling from her bare foot.

This was… surreal.

She really couldn't make this sort of stuff up.

Her parents had raised her without knowing she was special, magical, and a whole world had been given to her. A world with magic, wands, wizards, transportation by fireplace, goblin bankers, strange creatures, flying broomsticks and a complete governing body. One where she was entitled to attend school in a castle in the north of Scotland, where her parents wouldn't see her for months at a time.

And here she was waiting for a schoolmate - two years her senior and an older brother to one of her best friends in the whole world – to masturbate in the shower less than two feet away from her, all because of a spell.

They would be _so_ proud.

And all of this, of course, after she had allowed a boy that she hadn't been dating all that long to kiss her, and touch her, and make her moan with want –

The sharp sound of air hissing through teeth made her jump from her reverie and cast a side glance at the shower curtain. It remained in place and George hissed again. The raw sound of it grated against her nerve endings in a way that somehow turned pleasant, and she concentrated on listening for any other indication he might give her of his activities.

"Ahhh." His gasp trickled down her spine like the water that _must_ be running down his body.

Dropping her head back slowly, Hermione cast a side glance at the shower curtain again, and again, and again until she was gazing through the small gap between the tile and the plastic. She could only see one of his hands pressed to the expanse of white, his fingers curving off and the tips pressed again firmly, turned the edges white. His skin was not as pale as Ginny and Ron's, and maybe she hadn't noticed until now because it was enhanced by the whiteness of the bathroom, but the freckles smattered over his arm were also more apparent.

"Unnngh."

He was so quiet. Hermione's ears strained, and she wished she could hear the nuances of his utterings in her ear.

"Ha."

An exhale and then a gasp.

A shaky sigh and then a _groan_.

_A groan_.

A groan and then –

"_Hermione_."

It was barely a whisper and she watched the fingers clench and whiten, shocked. The bit of forearm she could see was shaking now, just a tremble, and she felt her limbs imitate the movement perfectly. She had been warm before, but now she was hot, stifled, the steam of the bathroom pressing in and catching on her skin and making her damp – or was that her own sweat? – she wasn't sure because as she pressed her ear a little closer to the opening, she could just hear him panting –

"_Unnnngh_."

Between the shower and water spray, she could hear skin, _skin slapping on skin_, and it was a heady thought all of a sudden. Why had she been so embarrassed before? Listening to him was making the most wonderful feelings swirl low in her belly, up the column of her spine, dance over her brain.

He was thinking of _her_. Her muscles clenched.

He had all but admitted it when her name had fallen like a prayer from his lips like water gathering and becoming too heavy to remain there. It was unexpected and inadvertent – it was _laudatory._

And suddenly it was if the drip had turned into a stream and his nonsensical ramblings bounced around the echo-y space around her, reverberating with her very core.

"I – Hermione – I think I'm just about – I can't – this is the best fucking feeling."

And the stream into a river.

"_Holy fuck – _I – I'm so sorry – please don't let me – _ahhh_ – I cocked it all up – I promise, _I promise -_"

And the river into –

"Ha – _ha_ – I'm ready – I'm going to –_ please -_"

His voice was imploring her, urging her, _pleading_ her and it was both painful and painfully gratifying to hear the brokenness of his tone, to hear the shaking and trembling and the verbal supplication, and to know for certain –

Well, not for certain quite yet –

"_Hermione, please_."

Hermione stuck her hand through to the other side of the shower curtain and it was immediately grasped tightly and enveloped in his warm wet palm, his fingers curling around hers carelessly and unevenly.

"I – I – _fuck!_"

The agony in his voice was heart wrenching and excruciating and Hermione felt George's release in the death grip he had on her hand. He was shaking, shaking, trembling, and there was water running, trickling down her forearm and dripping from her elbow and into the tub below as he continued to hold her tight.

When he finally stilled and sucked in a large ragged breath of air, Hermione herself was shaking.

"Thank you," George whispered, his voice whole again and the softening of his tone evident as well as the gratitude. All in two words.

"You're welcome," she spoke back, her voice raspy from disuse. "Are you alright?"

"I'm bloody fucking perfect, Granger, _fuck_."

She gave a small laugh which he returned, the glow back in his tone, rich and languid and lithe.

"So I'll, um, see you tomorrow?" she wiped her arm on her pyjama bottoms and stood, stretching.

"Yes," George sighed happily.

* * *

**A/N: Okay let me start out by saying you guys blew up my inbox over the weekend with reviews and follows and favourites and kind words and lovely chatter and you were all so wonderful! Thank you so so much, it means a lot to me.  
**

**Secondly, I have a working playlist of songs that I use for inspiration and on The Injunction I listed the relevant ones at the end of the chapter. This time I think I'll just message ******the complete list to **those who ask for it. So if you're interested in my Retribution playlist, let me know. **

**If you've been paying attention, you'll know that it's just about Christmas break for them. I doubt I have to tell you what that means for Hermione and George.**

**Predictions? Favourite parts? Hopes for the future?**

**Let me know!**

**Cheers**


	16. Chapter 16

It was a weekday.

It was a weekday and he was waking up early for a full day of classes.

And the weak winter sun was shining, the birds were chirruping and he was somehow enjoying it all.

George rose from bed the morning after... what could they even call what had happened?

Now that his head was clear and he had had the best sleep of the last four months, he realised that perhaps either or both of them should have been more embarrassed about the situation. George sighed.

Hermione had left directly after to shuffle back to her dorm and go to bed and George had stood under the never-ending hot water for another few minutes before actually lathering up and washing himself. When he got out, Lee and Fred had reappeared, eyes hesitant but still wide with curiosity and wonder.

"Alright, mate?" Lee had asked.

George had made some sort of vague nod-yawn and collapsed into bed immediately. He didn't remember a thing between that moment and when he cracked his eyelids the next morning.

As he dressed, George considered things.

One of the feelings he had been dealing with for the last while was the fact that Hermione no longer trusted him; they had built a tentative trust which he had broken by inviting Angela Sinclair into an abandoned classroom. But in order for last night to happen, she had to be coming round, finally. It didn't justify his actions, but it was reassuring that maybe they could get back to that place. It was a nice place to be.

Fred and Lee were shuffling and grumbling in bed when he left, hopping down the steps two at a time to find the common room mostly empty with people drifting in the direction of the portrait hole on their way to breakfast. Her knew Hermione rose fairly early and opted to eat an early breakfast and so George perched on the arm of the sofa closest the girls' stairs and waited for her to appear. Stretching his legs out, he crossed them at the ankle and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Last night he had been too tired and exhausted and finally not on edge to do much more than let her leave when she did. He must have stood there, hunched against the tile, for at least another ten minutes before moving again when his mind came back to him. So... what did one say to the girl who had let him wank not two feet from her, who had probably been uncomfortable the whole time, who had probably not wanted to help him even?

Was one supposed to be a gentleman about it - and what did that even mean in this situation anyway? Should they even bring it up? Why did this whole thing have to be so frustratingly uncommon?

"Oh!" Hermione's voice sounded and George looked up from his feet. She had come down the stone steps and nearly tripped over his outstretched ankles in her haste and surprise. He felt a zinging sensation crackle up his spine as her eyes quickly travelled up the length of him, settling on his eyes. "Good morning," she stammered.

"Morning," he responded automatically, standing and raising a hand to brush through his hair roughly, her quick eyes following the movement.

Hermione looked as well rested as he felt. Her skin was bright, not a trace of the dark circles they were both accustomed to these days, and her cheeks were the loveliest shade of pink that was currently deepening under his gaze.

"Had a good sleep?" she asked, as if she could read his mind. George nodded dumbly, resisting the urge to take a step closer to her, always closer -

Was the tug more insistent? It was hard to tell...

He had miles more focus though and he concentrated on Hermione's face. She was blinking up at him, the lines between her eyebrows showing the first signs of furrowing. Her mouth was moving.

"Sorry?" he startled, giving his head a shake. George hadn't heard a word she'd said, not one and wasn't that a bit embarrassing?

"I said, are you alright?" she asked again pointedly.

"Oh, yeah, I'm smashing," George felt his face split into a grin and she regarded him closely.

"Alright, well, I'm going down to breakfast," she continued, "if you want to come with."

"Yeah, I know, I was waiting for you, Granger," he laughed a little as they stared for the portrait hole a bit awkwardly.

"You were?" she asked, her tone changing to something more timid, not breathless but almost.

_Almost._

* * *

"Yeah," George continued and Hermione felt her insides swoop low in her abdomen.

Hermione had just woken after having the most restful sleep of fifth year and she couldn't be more ecstatic over it. Her step and her curls bounced on her way down the steps and then she had run into George and she had been bombarded by images and feelings from the night before.

As they walked side by side in quiet, both obviously contemplative, all Hermione could think of was how much more intimate the connection between them felt now. It was odd and awkward in the light of day, whereas the darkness of the night before had been filled with so much relief on both sides, it had hardly mattered. But what had happened yesterday had been very personal and it had planted a seed, a seed which Hermione was surprised to see had already sprouted.

They looked over at one another, meeting eyes and giving small smiles, not really knowing what else to say.

Was it appropriate to voice these sorts of things?

_We are far past appropriate_.

Hermione had _felt_ George shake with release less than 12 hours ago. His groans and gaspy breaths had made her damp with want and his grip had been positively electric, _cathartic_. He had caused her to return to her room a bit of a mess, exhaustion the only thing that had caused her to sleep soundly.

The coldness of the tile seeping through her shirt, looking down at her pink slippers, the glimpse of lean back before she had raised her hand to hide him from view, his ragged breathing that had caught on every ridge of the shell of her ear, her name falling from his lips - _Hermione_ \- she could hear it now and her centre throbbed, pulsed, to the whisper that sounded as if he had just said it again, though he hadn't.

She looked over at him.

George was walking loosely beside her, his body newly relaxed and free of tautness, the sound of his trainers on the floor with every step reassuring somehow. This George was carefree, happy, well-rested, all lop-sided grins and slightly crooked uniform ties. It was markedly more difficult than she thought to reconcile _this _George with the shaking, gasping, begging, desperate George of last night in the bathroom.

And what was more, was that she _wanted_ to see that George again.

This was absolutely mad.

Wasn't it?

And wasn't it positively mad, the way they sat down and breakfasted together, quietly, as though had done it many times before? She supposed they had actually, especially over the last four months, barring any stretches of time where she had been too angry to be near him or he had been too much of a prat to... to what?

She didn't know.

To notice her?

No, that wasn't it.

And wasn't it absolutely insane, the way she didn't feel the need to fill the silence? But perhaps that was the new development between them, silencing them from making fools out of themselves and out of each other, and perhaps it was for dignity, and perhaps also out of fear as well. Because what would she say if after everything he resorted to another girl again? Though it was extremely doubtful considering their particular predicament, the notion remained. What would she do if he made those feelings of betrayal swirl and pulse and flare again? Because she didn't think could handle it, no, not after breaking to pieces in his arms in the middle of a public forum with no warning, and not after letting him grip her hand, shaking, water-logged.

Whatever were they?

And what was the spell and what was her and him and _them_?

It was impossible to tell.

There was no way to decipher and that aggravated her more than anything, because she still could not trust herself, not when she knew, not when she listened to herself, her inner monologue or her body or her conscious thoughts. Not when she knew that the gentle rest she had acquired was slowly - _so slowly but not slowly enough of course because wasn't that the way these things worked?_ \- slowly and predictably fizzled out. Hermione could feel the effects of their touch wearing off, even though they had cracked the secret only yesterday.

"Are you particularly set on remaining entirely oblivious to the outside world today, or is it safe to assume you'll be joining us again at some point?"

Hermione gasped and her head shot up.

"Just us, Granger," Lee laughed as he settled beside Fred who had been the one to jerk her unceremoniously from her reverie.

"My, isn't this table _loaded_ this morning?" Fred looked between Hermione and George after a few beats of silence.

"Shut up, Fred," George remarked lightly, easily, his eyes flicking to Hermione and away again.

"_And_ touchy," Lee's eyebrows rose, "pardon the pun."

"_Feely_?" Fred picked up with a bawdy smirk, both him and Lee nodding in agreement with each other. "Pun intended, of course."

"Don't be obscene," Hermione bristled, a blush taking over her entire face hotly. "It's unbecoming."

"Don't -" George held up a hand at his twin whose mouth had opened in order to retort very quickly. He turned back to her. "Don't leave him any openings for innuendo, he can't help himself."

"Let me tell you something about _openings_ -" Fred thumped his elbow hollowly onto the table with a raised finger, as if he was about to educate them appropriately. Hermione was now wising up to the fact that he was being so crass about all of this to try and lighten the mood. It was his favoured tactic, after all.

"I know you think you're being funny, but can we just drop it, yeah?" George sighed.

"I dunno, I think he's funny," Hermione cracked a grin and Fred beamed back at her. "Carry on." She waved her hand nonchalantly at him and he proceeded to turn every phrase of theirs and within earshot into something related to sex, and by the end Hermione was in stitches, tears forming in her eyes and gasping for breath as George watched her with a degree of curiosity and finding it difficult himself to keep from grinning stupidly.

"See? Not so hard to talk about is it?" Fred gave them and self-important puff of the chest.

"Not _hard_ at all," Hermione murmured and Lee recoiled from the table with a pronounced gasp, mouth agape and finger pointing in her direction.

"Have I told you recently how much I like you, Granger?" Fred regarded her calmly as Lee waggled his finger and looked between them.

Fred had succeeded in breaking the ice and the day ahead seemed far less daunting without the slight air of awkwardness between George and her. They parted ways in the Entrance Hall and shared a look. Perhaps he understood that she would want to speak to him later in the evening? George gave her a tiny nod and she breathed a sigh of relief.

While breakfast had taken the edge off the dread for the day, class seemed to drift between dragging and speeding by that particular Tuesday. Double Charms had flown by, being a largely practice heavy period but Transfiguration had required a bit more discipline. Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology that afternoon were cancelled last minute because it was simply too cold to be outside for lessons now that they were knee deep in December.

The rest of the afternoon went quickly as Hermione poured into her homework like she had been longing to do since September. Finally, she was feeling more like herself and the weight that lifted off her shoulders was evident. The mental clarity was allowing her to whip through her homework and her advance assignments like no other and she did not return to the common room until nearly curfew.

As she stripped down for a shower, she felt something niggling at her.

Hermione had not seen George since breakfast apart from a rushed lunch between classes and they had not addressed the situation of their new found intimacy. Because that was exactly what it was, and now neither of them wanted to risk making a move to touch the other with this huge change upon them.

At least, that's what it felt like to Hermione.

They had been getting comfortable being near each other again, and now… they didn't know what the other was thinking. Which was unsurprising really, considering neither of them could read minds.

Sighing, Hermione pulled on some soft pyjamas and contemplated her next move.

It was nearly Christmas break and she had been putting off telling her parents that she would be 'staying at school for the holidays because OWL's are important' instead of going on a skiing trip with them. She had only just decided that there was no way she could be away from George that long, on a slippery snowy slope, and not get herself killed in action, even on a bunny trail. And so the necessity of a lie had come to be quite obvious, and she would instead be going home with Ron and Harry to Grimmauld Place; Ginny had assured her that it was quite alright and that her parents usually assumed that all of their gathered misfits would be coming for the holidays unless other plans were mentioned.

And besides, the more the merrier, wasn't that the saying?

The more the merrier.

Hermione slipped out of the room and down the stairs to the common room. It was past curfew now for sure and there was still a significant amount of people in the shared living space. Hermione stepped lightly and crept up the boys' stairs until she reached the top of the spiral stone steps. The knock she sounded on the door made the occupants inside fall silent before there was a shuffle and Lee appeared at the door.

"Ah, come on in. Welcome to our lovely abode," he stepped back and she slipped inside into the warmth of the glowing embers in the centre of the dorm. "Can I get you a beverage, my lady?"

"We have butterbeer, firewhiskey, gillywater…" Fred listed from his position on one of the bunks, crammed up near his headboard.

"How much alcohol do you really need between the three of you?" she asked with incredulity.

"It's hardly all for us, is it?" Lee scoffed. "We always share," he continued pointedly and Hermione grimaced. That was true.

Silence suddenly expanded to fill the room when the shower Hermione hadn't realised had been running shut off. A moment later, George emerged, steam billowing into the room after him and curling up toward the ceiling. Hermione's only saving grace was the towel cinched around his lower half because her breath got caught in her throat.

Had she really missed watching all of _that_ in the shower when she had been mere inches from him?

George was tall, which she already knew, but he was also long-limbed which she supposed made sense considering the first fact. But he was _lean_ in way that hedged delicately, _wonderfully,_ between lanky and muscled that coexisted magnificently with a casual litheness. All of these attributes were realized so suddenly and as a whole were quite mesmerizing. He had clearly not taken much time to dry his hair for the ginger locks were still dripping water onto his shoulders and chest below, the droplets following some predetermined trail down over his skin, dodging his freckles as if it was all part of a divine plan that every piece of him and the water was aware of. With every smoothing of her eyes over his naked limbs, she could tell just by looking that he was longer than her, taller than her, that he would dwarf her small feminine frame and she had the sudden and unmistakable desire to fit her plumper curves against his taut ones to see how they measured up against one another.

Like comparing foot sizes with an adult as a child.

No, no. Much more than that.

It wasn't like that at all actually.

It was more like –

"You were hiding your eyes yesterday," George's voice cracked through her inner soliloquy and she knew immediately by the tone of his voice that he had noticed and very likely enjoyed her perusal of him.

"I just came to – we haven't -" Hermione stuttered and slapped a hand up over her eyes, her brain begging her to remove it so that she could keep roving her eyes over him like walking a compass across a worn and ancient map with precision, with reverence, taking in minute detail of the work below the points that a cartographer had poured over at one point in history.

"Why don't you sit down, Granger, before you hurt yourself?" he chuckled and she sighed. With a hand outstretched she shuffled the few steps she knew it to be to the nearest bed and sank down onto it gently. It was foreign.

"I'm just here to…" she started again, hearing Lee and Fred go back to plotting whatever they were working on before she had knocked in the dormitory door.

"I know. Just hold on a tick – I imagine you'd like me to put some clothing on before I get any closer," he commented airily.

_Not particularly_.

"Right," she breathed.

There was more shuffling and her ears piqued up, listening for any indication of… anything. Suddenly, the bed dipped behind her and she squeaked.

"Budge up, Granger," George's voice was closer. Much closer.

Hermione lowered her hand, which had plastered to her face with the sudden movement. When she opened her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder to see George settling on his bed on his back, stretching his extremities out.

"What am I supposed to…?"

"Here," he patted the mattress next to him. "S'all right, I won't bite."

Hermione hardly remembered laying her back down next to his, hardly remembered the feel of her upper arm against his ribs. She hardly remembered anything because she felt off to sleep, the thrum of arousal not enough to keep her awake after a long and trying day.

When she cracked one eye open in the middle of the night, she realized immediately what had happened. The dorm was now dark, the only light casting dim shadows was the moon from outside. She was warm, remarkably so considering that she had no blanket on. When Hermione shifted, realization settled over her limbs in a tingling fashion, making her feel heavy and rooted to the bed. She was now on her side and George was nuzzled behind her. She could feel his gentle easy breath on the skin of her neck and the heat he was supplying her with was making the skin of her back slightly sticky.

He was like a furnace.

Hermione shuffled again, thinking how best to get out from under the arm he had casually thrown over her middle without waking him when he inhaled a slow deep breath.

* * *

Summer. She smelled like summer.

Like hot air and cool rain. Like outdoors. Like flowers.

George had tucked Hermione's hair away from the nape of her neck so that he could breathe without inhaling her locks or having them tickle his face. Beneath them her neck was slender and sloping, the moonlight catching just the edges of her silhouette.

She shifted once under his arm and he blearily hoped that she would not feel how hard he was just millimetres away from her behind; should she scoot backwards at all, there would be no possibility of denying it.

Silence.

Stillness.

And she shifted again, this time more softly but indeed moving just enough for the front of his lounge pants to brush and catch on her pyjama bottoms and he felt as well as heard her sharp intake of breath. George held in his vocal approval of the new contact, however infinitesimal it was, closing his eyes to regain some focus. Hermione stilled in his arms.

"Don't pay it any attention, love, it never goes away these days," George's voice crackled quietly and she jumped about a mile into the air, making him chuckle scratchily.

"I didn't realize you were awake," she breathed back. "I mean, I didn't realize I had fallen asleep. Sorry."

"S'all right. You hardly take up any room and you're warm," he sighed happily. "And I can sleep."

Hermione's form was still motionless, unnaturally so, against his chest.

"But if it makes you uncomfortable, you can go," he continued for clarification.

"I think I'd better," she responded, her posture relaxing somewhat. "I'm, uh, I'm coming home to spend Christmas with you. I'll owl my parents today about it. Just so you know."

"Oh, good, because I was worried for my sanity," he expressed as she pulled away, the warmth and connection lost, a chill burrowing in in her absence and the gentle brush from moments ago teasing him for more, making him yearn to tell her to come back, to press her back to his front again, for anything.

"Like you have any to begin with," she answered him before cracking the door and slipping out silently.

George grinned after her into the dark.

* * *

Hermione woke on two days later on Thursday morning to the normal sounds of the castle coming to life, but something did not feel right. In her chest. Something didn't feel quite right under her ribs.

Ignoring it, she hopped out of bed and got ready for classes quickly, for she had slept a little later than usual. The night before had been the last DA meeting before the holidays let out and the excitement had run high all night. Students were itching to get out of classes and get back home to be lazy, to visit family, to eat an inordinate amount. Chatter ran rampant through the halls, through the classrooms, and Hermione trekked down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

It was odd.

She was not as early as she usually was and yet none of the people she normally sat with were to be found.

No Harry and Ron, no Fred and George. No Ginny even.

How peculiar.

"Hermione!"

Lee called her name and she made her way to his spot at the table. He too was curiously alone.

"Hey," he leaned closer as she sat. "George said to make sure you knew…"

"Knew what? Where is everyone anyway?" Hermione asked, a feeling of dread rising in her throat.

"I'm not sure but McGonagall came and pulled them out of bed last night, and I heard from Neville Longbottom that she did the same for Harry and Ron. And Ginny's not anywhere to be found either but I haven't seen or heard from any of the girls in her year…"

"Oh no," Hermione heart pounded.

The Order.

Had something happened to someone in the Order? Out on a mission?

Well, surely if it was just that they'd have brought her too? But maybe not, parental consent and all that.

"And Dean Thomas told me that Harry was shouting about Mr. Weasley being attacked," Lee finished and Hermione's heart stopped.

That would certainly warrant his children being pulled out of school in the middle of the night under the nose of the Ministry and McGonagall likely had a good reason to leave Hermione behind.

"Anything else?"

Lee was just opening his mouth when he was interrupted sharply.

"Mr. Jordan, I seem to recall you having Herbology this morning," McGonagall's voice sounded and the pair turned. "You ought to run along."

"Right," Lee nodded, sharing a glance with Hermione before scurrying down the length of the bench and out the doors.

"Mood morning, Ms. Granger. I believe your friends have left early for family matters," McGonagall cut straight to the chase and fixed her with an intent look. Hermione could feel the older woman encouraging her to see beyond the surface of her words. "Mr. Weasley asked me to inform you that everything is fine and that they will see you after your skiing trip."

"Which one?" Hermione blurted out before thinking, kicking herself mentally.

"Which what, Ms. Granger?" McGonagall's eyebrows came together slightly.

"Which Mr. Weasley?" she pressed forward. No going back now, might as well pull through to the end.

"Ronald," the Head of House quirked her lip a nearly imperceptible amount. Hermione caught it and grimaced inwardly.

Stupid, Hermione. Stupid. Attracting attention.

"Of course," she nodded, giving the steely woman a casually light glance. "I'll see them after the break then."

They bid each other goodbye and Hermione's heart sunk.

There was another thing to add to the list.

That feeling in her chest - the hollow one that demanded attention - that was the absence, _the distance_, of George Weasley.

* * *

**A/N: So as some of you will know, I have started up with school again after taking six months off, and this chapter marks my fourth or fifth chapter up since returning to the chaotic life of assignments and projects and overnighters in the sewing lab. I will of course try my hardest to keep updating regularly, at least until final projects come around in eight weeks, and for now I think a goal of one chapter a week or week and a half is a doable thing. Please be patient with me. I often write large chunks at a time but that doesn't guarantee that I will _always_ have time (full time school, part time work, insane amounts of homework all in the name of creating).**

**On another note, all of your reviews, follows, alerts, favourites, and PMs mean quite a lot to me and I would like it very much if you would leave a review for me. (They really do motivate me to squeeze in an hour of writing wherever possible in my 18+ hour days.)**

**Thank you!**


	17. Chapter 17

"George, wake up."

George woke with a start as a hand on his shoulder shook him awake and by the light of a single candle, he was greeted by the face of his little sister. Behind her, McGonagall was waking Fred.

"Gin?" his voice was crackly from sleep and his eyes only partially open. He had been having a great dream, but quickly the images of amber irises, the memory of her breath on his neck, and the scent of her in his nose sunk to the background. Blinking, he sat up a little more.

"Please get up," she asked him succinctly, shortly. As he focused, George realized that Ginny was speaking as little as possible because she looked on the verge of tears.

"Are you okay?" George asked in a hushed voice as McGonagall roused Fred in the next bed. George had barely lifted his arm for his sister when she pulled him tight quickly, fiercely, before letting go again and urging him up.

"It's dad -"

Her words froze in her throat and George knew the feeling instantly as his chest seized in panic.

The Order.

The Ministry.

Blood Traitors.

There were plenty of reasons why someone might want to hurt their parents and it was a fact that wasn't often spoken about but understood by all the Weasleys. However, they didn't let it change their morals and values or the way his mum and dad had taught all of their children to see the world.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was jumping out of bed, both of the boys grabbing their robes hastily and shoving their feet into slippers.

"What's going on?" Lee's voice had them all turning to look at him on their way out of the room.

"Family emergency, Mr. Jordan. Do try to go back to sleep," McGonagall gave him a nod as she shuffled back out of the dorm, Ginny on her heels.

"It's Dad," Fred hissed quietly to their friend.

"Tell Granger," George added quietly as they followed, and Lee nodded in understanding. George would have no time to tell her where he had gone, as he had assumed it was quite serious by the set of McGonagall's jaw. George would bet their entire earnings on the fact that they would be leaving Hogwarts in a matter of minutes. Hermione would have no idea where they had all disappeared to.

Soft, warm skin under his palms - pliable, _supple_ \- the convexity of her hips followed so closely by the concavity at the bend of her waist, a study in opposites, a beautiful contradiction -

There was no time for thoughts like that.

George followed after McGonagall's fast clip, her own robe cinched tightly as the Weasleys followed, material flapping. He scratched his palms, trying to rid himself of the image, of the feeling, of being eyelevel with the column of her throat, her head thrown back... He pushed that down and away.

Dad.

Dad was all that mattered right now.

"Fizzing Whizbee," their Head of House uttered to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. George's stomach was still not back at its usual home and his nerves felt jumpy, his heart racing. The staircase could not carry them up to the Headmaster fast enough. When they finally burst through the door, they found Ron and Harry already inside with Dumbledore.

"Harry - what's going on?" Ginny asked, her voice sounding off in her barely-controlled panic. "Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt -"

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore stepped in to answer before Harry had even opened his mouth to speak. "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius' house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

George tried to calm his heart rate, the rapid beat of it hammering against the inside of his ribs. He had known they would likely be leaving, and his father was in grave danger, but he did _not_ want to leave without Granger.

But what could he do?

Nothing, not right now.

Hopefully her parents would be okay with her not going skiing with them, or he might go insane over the three week break.

"How're we going?" Fred voiced, pale. "Floo powder?"

"No," replied Dumbledore, "Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." An old copper kettle, black with grime, age and disuse was sitting innocently on the large desk, dinged quite badly on one side. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you -"

A blue flame appeared above their heads in the centre of the room and Dumbledore's eyes took barely a moment to register its meaning as a beautiful and untouched golden feather descended to the desktop once the flame had vanished again.

"It is Fawkes' warning," Dumbledore scooped it up and twirled it in his fingers. "She must know you're out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off - tell any story -"

With a sharp nod, the tartaned woman was gone.

"He says he'll be delighted," a slow and lethargic voce piped up from a portrait overhead and George recognized the face there from brief glimpses at Grimmauld over the summer. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in houseguests..."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore gathered them close around the desk with the kettle between them. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us... You have all used a Portkey before?"

Fred, George, Ginny, Harry and Ron all nodded, each extending a hand to touch at least one finger to the old thing.

"Good. On the count of three then... one... two... _three_."

George was entirely prepared for the familiar sensation of being hooked at the navel to an inanimate object that was speeding through space by way of pure magic. What he was not prepared for was the sudden pinching at the centre of his chest, spreading achingly - like when he had slammed into a particularly knotty tree once in the orchard when he was flying with Fred, and that feeling of pain that was sort of numb at first, but then spread like wildfire, and it would get worse and worse before eventually levelling off. Like stepping into a bath that was too hot - it was too hot and _too hot_ until all of a sudden it wasn't anymore, but the difference was that he hadn't reached the point of okay yet and it still ached and burned and twisted -

When his feet slammed back down onto the flagstone of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, George stumbled a bit and tried to catch Ginny before she tumbled to the ground, but he was unsuccessful. She landed with a hiss but Harry was nearby to help her up after he had righted himself. The fifth-year was pale and clammy-looking, the scar on his forehead appearing more starkly obvious than usual and George's mind was struggling to connect the dots. Why hadn't Dumbledore explained what had happened better? It was his father for Merlin's sake. Screw the Order and its secrecy, he had a right to know what had –

"OUT!" Sirius' voice hollered and George caught the back end of Kreacher's head as the elf slunk away at his master's orders. Sirius was heading toward them, clothes rumpled and face unshaven, the gloomy backdrop of Grimmauld Place pulling his features down. George suddenly felt a bit sad for Sirius, being cooped up and kept inside his own family home, a home which was clearly not full of happy memories if George guessed right.

"What's going on?" the wizard asked, his dark grey eyes searching their persons and determining none were in any immediate danger at present.

"Ask Harry," Fred responded, casting a side glance at the aforementioned boy.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," George grumbled, fixing him with an expectant look and knowing without looking that Fred and Ginny were doing the very same.

"It was –" Harry began, looking like he was extremely uncomfortable under their observing eyes. "I had a – a kind of – vision…"

The story that followed would have been taken as complete lunacy if they had not befriended the orphan years ago. As it was, the years past of close calls with Voldemort and trouble at every turn caused the room not to question him on how sure he was he hadn't just gone round the bend.

Harry finished his monologue and George took a slow deep breath.

A bloody great snake had somehow gotten to Dad.

Lovely.

"Is Mum here?" Fred turned to Sirius with determination.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," the older wizard responded. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's telling Molly now."

"We've got to get to St. Mungo's," Ginny spoke up with urgency. Her eyes scanned over the group and she cast around for a solution. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything -?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!" Sirius protested as the little witch shifted.

"'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want," scoffed Fred."He's our dad!"

George's chest puffed up at Fred's words. Of _course _they were going to see him.

"And how are you going to explain that you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?"

"What does that matter?" George snarked hotly.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" insisted Sirius, sounding surprisingly more like a parental figure than George had ever expected. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

While it was logical and reasonable to wait, George could not help but feel the urge to get up, to jump up, to shove past Sirius and Floo straight there, to anything other than sit and wait and watch and wait some more. Worry and anger bubbled in his stomach, worry for his father, and anger at the bloody snake - and Voldemort too, couldn't forget that arse, could you? – and worry for his mother, and worry for Hermione

_Hermione_.

George's chest clenched again and Fred gave his a weird look.

"You alright?" he whispered on the sly.

George shook his head a fraction of an inch.

Now that he had thought about it again, the burning clenching jumped to the forefront of his mind and once again he was struck with the thought of how they could have avoided all of this uncomfortableness by not being so concerned with getting Hermione off their backs.

"Somebody else could have told us…" Ginny lost steam. "We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry…"

"Like who?" Sirius asked impatiently. "Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's –"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred, and George saw Ginny start.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George tacked on fiercely, the tension in his body drawing tightly and stretching his patience a bit too thin.

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" Sirius threw back angrily. George felt his own anger heighten in response and he gritted his teeth. "This is how it is – this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!"

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" Fred bellowed. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

The silence after his twin had closed his mouth was deafening, and Sirius went paler than usual. His jaw clenched and George could see Sirius in the middle of a rare display of self-control, his jaw twitching as he refrained from hitting Fred.

"I know it's hard, but we've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?"

George knew he was right, he knew it, but that didn't stop him from seething silently alongside his twin as Ginny shuffled over to a kitchen chair and poured herself into it. Harry and Ron glanced at each other and Fred and George sat on either side of Ginny wordlessly.

"That's right," Sirius heaved a sigh of relief at not being faced with a room full of mutinous teenagers to handle by himself. "Let's all… let's all have a drink while we're waiting. _Accio Butterbeer_!"

As the bottles skipped to a halt on the table in front of them and Sirius joined them, George wondered what time it was, if Hermione was still sleeping, if Lee would be able to get to her right away in the morning. He hoped that somewhere in London his father was getting the treatment he needed, and that the Healers would be able to stop the bleeding, to stop any venom, to heal his injuries and let him go home completely healthy. He hoped that Harry would be okay, because by the looks of it, he was blaming himself for everything that had happened to their father, his hand shaking on the brown bottle across from them.

A great flash of light from above then caused everyone to gasp, and a scroll of parchment and a golden feather settling on the table between them.

"Fawkes!" Sirius said at once, reaching for the parchment. "That's not Dumbledore's writing – it must be a message from your mother – here –"

Sirius pushed the scroll into George's hand immediately and he ripped it open, the sound of the parchment gritty and harsh in the early morning haze.

"_Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum._" But... "Still alive... But that makes it sound..." George trailed off as his gut locked with fear. That made it sound as though his father was teetering on the brink of death. And that was not a pleasant thought.

Fred tugged the note out of his hands to read it himself, but he found no new information or comfort from the words either way. They sat back down around the table, waiting, waiting, for any news. Waiting and trying not to think of a world where their father was not at the dinner table, where he could not be found hiding in his shed tinkering with his muggle things.

The hours dragged on until finally -

"He's going to be alright."

Molly Weasley stepped into the kitchen, windblown and pale, but ever the matriarch.

"He's sleeping. We can all go see him later. Bill's sitting with him now, he's going to take the morning off work," she continued, pulling George and Ginny close, the others sitting back down in relief immediately. George hear Ron's awkward shaky laugh as he curled himself around his mother, Ginny pressed close to his side as they both squeezed her.

With abundant appreciation for the break in tension, Sirius declared breakfast a necessity and hollered for Kreacher, who did not come. George joined Fred and the others back at the kitchen table, sinking slowly into his seat as his mother nearly cut off Harry's air supply with a ginormous embrace.

His mother was within earshot, and his father was still alive.

A deep sigh from the very bottom of his lungs slid out, and a hand clasped his elbow warmly. He knew without looking that Ginny had reached out from her seat next to him where she had been curled up tightly. Her touch made his insides clench oddly. It was a stark reminder that he was missing Hermione; even though his little sister's touch was comforting, it was not the one his body craved. The ache in the centre of his chest flared up a bit and he reached for his nearly empty bottle of butterbeer, tossing back the last gulp and hoping it would be enough to ease the sensation.

Immediately after breakfast, everyone retired to the rooms they used over the summer for some sleep considering they had all sat up all night. Fred and George trudged up the stairs after Harry and Ron, Ginny trailing behind and their mother chattering on tiredly to her one floor below.

"This is..." George started as they both fell into bed moments later.

"Absolutely ridiculous," Fred responded immediately.

"I think we ought to consider exactly what this means," George nodded.

"Things are a lot worse than they've been letting on," Fred continued.

"Agreed. This changes things."

Sleep came quickly and when the afternoon rolled around, George woke feeling hazy and garbled. Blinking blearily, he rubbed his chest lightly and sighed. The feeling was still there.

The hanging and decorations were dark and ornate, overpowering but familiar, and George breathed in slowly.

_Keep your head. She's safe at Hogwarts, you'll see her soon... Hopefully. _

"You alright?" Fred asked croakily from the bed across the room.

"It's just the thing with Hermione..." George sighed. "She _did_ say she was coming here for Christmas, right?"

"Yeah, I think that was her plan. What's..." he gestured sleepily to his twin.

"It feels like... Right here," George placed his palm over the centre of his chest, "it feels like pressure and twisting and pinching. Like... Like when you get something stuck between your teeth and can't get it out but it drives you bloody mad because it feels wrong but you can't do the one thing that'll fix it? Like that. Like that," George sighed.

It felt like that.

* * *

"Alright, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up to find Neville standing at the table just a few paces from her. The Great Hall was bustling with people who were ready for Christmas Break to begin, ready for no school, no classes and no homework. The Hogwarts Express was set to leave the next morning, Saturday, but Hermione had been given permission to use the Knight Bus that evening to get to Grimmauld Place.

On the other hand, Hermione was trying her damndest to keep from panicking in front of anyone. She had come to the conclusion that she should not send Harry, Ron or George a letter asking what had happened and where they were and if everyone was okay. The mail was being watched, or at least hers would be for sure. She was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's best friend, two of five children that had made it out of school nearly two days early under the nose of Delores Umbridge. The first thing that foul woman would have done was make sure Hermione's mail in and out of the castle was being monitored for any hints as to what her associates were up to. Hermione had gathered from the woman's mood in the last 24 hours that she was quite ticked off about everything happening under her very nose.

"I'm alright Neville. How are you?" Hermione responded, shifting in her seat quietly. She had felt a bit out of sorts since the Weasleys and Harry had disappeared, and it felt like someone was stepping on her chest.

"Looking forward to sleeping in my own bed at Gran's," he laughed and sat down beside her. "Have you heard anything?" he lowered his voice. The Gryffindor boy had been quite concerned and Hermione understood why. According to him, Harry had started thrashing and screaming in his sleep before waking and insisting that Ron's father had been injured. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas had been spoken to the next morning by Dumbledore himself, and as Neville told it, they'd been assured that Arthur Weasley was fine and to keep the happenings of that night to themselves.

That, of course, didn't stop them from pestering Hermione for any word of what might have happened after the boys and Ginny had been pulled from bed and removed from the castle. They expected Hermione to have some clue as to what was going on, and she wished she did.

As it was, she didn't, and she was anxious to get out of the castle and see her friends for herself.

"No, nothing," she responded. "Sorry to disappoint."

"S'alright," he took a bite of toast and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm sure everything's fine." The look on his face betrayed the false façade of optimism he was trying to pass off and Hermione laughed.

"When is it ever?"

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione turned to find her Head of House once again.

"Yes, Professor?" she swallowed quickly and turned around completely.

"I will be walking you down into the village at six this evening for you to return home. Shall we meet in the Entrance Hall at 5:45?" Minerva McGonagall asked stiffly.

"Yes, Professor, of course. Thank you," Hermione smiled anxiously.

The day whizzed by and Hermione tried her very hardest to ignore the whispers that followed her around from class to class and through the halls. She had packed her bag the night before in anticipation. Her parents were a bit disappointed that she wouldn't be joining them on their trip, but Hermione was relieved that she would be seeing George in just a few hours' time.

Hermione had the distinct feeling that the off sensation in her chest was directly related to his absence, a disturbing thought considering there was no guarantee that they would always be in the same place? And what would happen in the summer if the spell hadn't worn off by then? She usually visited the Weasleys, but she could hardly put off her parents for long. One holiday was one thing, but a whole summer? Impossible.

As Hermione donned her coat and winter things and trekked down to the Entrance Hall, whispers still followed her. She sighed and concentrated on levitating her trunk without hitting anyone and the feel of the ends of her scarf on her knees as she stepped.

"Perfect timing, Ms. Granger," McGonagall greeted her and held the door open for the girl. Hermione looped her scarf around her neck and fastened her coat against the chill of the outdoors.

"Thank you, Professor," she responded. The two made their way quickly through the night and down into the small town of Hogsmeade.

"Thank you for your discretion over this whole matter, Ms. Granger. Do pass my Christmas wishes on to your parents," the older witch gave Hermione a small smile and she nodded.

"Happy Christmas, Professor." Hermione held out her wand arm and the Knight Bus appeared with a bang.

"Happy Christmas," she nodded back, seeing that Stan Shunpike helped Hermione aboard and watching through the window to make sure she was settled before turning back to the castle. Hermione watched her go solemnly. She wasn't entirely sure what she would be greeted with when she arrived in London.

Nausea rolled around in Hermione's stomach at the movement of the bus and she was thankful when she nearly smashed her forehead into the seat in front of her because it signalled the end of her short trip. As she disembarked, Tonks' friendly face was there to greet her.

"Wotcher, Hermione! You look a little green… Are you alright?" she asked, hair a shocking turquoise colour.

"I'm not entirely sure," she said shakily, and the Metamorphmagus held out a hand for her. Snow was falling thickly on the pair, and Hermione could feel the skin of her face and hands tighten from the cold.

"Let's get you inside. Molly will sort you out," she nodded. "It's a right catastrophe in there. I'm not sure what happened but Harry won't come down from Buckbeak's room and everyone's acting a bit shifty and suspicious – more than usual, I mean – maybe you can figure it out," Tonks laughed.

"I can try." Hermione tugged her trunk up onto the curb and Tonks jabbed her wand at it, levitating it so that they could get into Grimmauld Place more easily. Sending a smile of thanks to the older witch, Hermione pushed her hair back, curls of dark brown falling into her eyes with snow catching and clinging to them.

"Whoops, sorry," Tonks chirruped as she knocked it against the door jamb loudly, the books inside shifting about audibly and snowflakes falling onto the front step from where they had gathered atop it on the short walk to the door.

Tonks reached out to ring the doorbell and a moment later, the front door was wrenched open with force.

"_\- SCUM OF MY FOREFATHERS, HOW YOU DISGRACE THE HOUSE OF BLACK, BLOODTRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS ALIKE, WHAT A DISGRACE -"_

"Come in, Hermione dear," Molly grimaced and Tonks apologized profusely as they stepped over the threshold. Hermione could hear the sounds of Sirius hollering in the background and trying to forcefully close the curtains that usually kept Mrs. Black's portrait quiet.

The front hall would have been quite gloomy, the darkness of the old Black home sucking any cheeriness from the atmosphere, if it weren't for the copious application of Christmas garland swooping from one sconce to the next, leading the way down the narrow hall to what Hermione knew to be the kitchen at the back of the house. Tonks and Hermione passed by the dining room, heading straight for the room where noises of inhabitants could be heard, Molly on their heels.

Immediately, Hermione felt the pressure in her chest, that sensation of something out of place or odd recede and soften around the edges, providing a noticeable relief. That all but confirmed her hypothesis of it being connected to the spell and to George.

Maybe he felt it too?

"I'll take that," Sirius appeared on the small set of steps that led down into the kitchens, nodding to the floating trunk. Hermione noted that he looked quite pleased to have so much company for the holidays. Probably because he was stuck inside his loathsome childhood home with no constant or predictable company, and he couldn't even correspond with Harry because of Umbridge. "Hello, Hermione. Good trip?"

"Urgh, not at all. Thank you, Sirius," Hermione smiled and he laughed at her answer, pulling his wand and taking over for Tonks as the young Auror skipped off down the stairs, barely managing to keep herself upright after nearly tripping over a table leg at the bottom.

"First floor with Ginny, then?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, thank you," Molly nodded gratefully. "We've already had supper, Hermione, but Harry hasn't eaten either..."

"Oh, Tonks said he's been a bit sullen, I'll go and find him and bring him down for something," Hermione sighed.

"Why don't I send up some sandwiches and juice to Ron's room and maybe that might be easier than trying to get him down into the kitchen just yet?"

"Sounds lovely," she nodded, mounting the first step. "Anyone know where he's hiding?"

"Speaking of lovely," came a familiar voice and Hermione looked up the first half-flight to see Fred standing just in front of Mrs. Black's portrait.

"Which Harry is not, by the by, and he's up in Buckbeak's old room -" George stepped into view as well and Hermione had to school her features to keep still. It took a remarkable amount of control not to hop the remaining steps two at a time and tackle him to the floorboards, but his mother was standing right there, and how ladylike would that be anyway - had his eyes always been that intense? Because she felt like she might have noticed that degree of single-minded focus before now, given that his eyes had barely settled on her before the spark deep in her abdomen flared to life, crackling and spitting hotly -

"Yes, he's on the top floor," Molly responded, pursing her lips at Fred, oblivious to the look Hermione and George were sharing. "I'll send something up in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione turned back to give her a careful smile before taking the steps at a concentrated and consistent pace, trying not to trip over her own feet.

"Ron and Ginny don't know you've arrived yet, and I'm going to go blow something up in the kitchen to distract mum," Fred whispered, sidestepping and opening a closet door with unnecessary flourish. "You have three to five minutes. Best get to work." He gave them a dashing and exaggerated wink that he somehow managed to convey with his whole body before hopping down the stairs three at a time and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Hermione pressed her lips together awkwardly.

"Well, hello," George started brightly.

"Yes, hello," Hermione cracked a grin and sighed in relief.

"After you?" George nodded to the open door and Hermione nodded. "I'm so glad you're here..."

Hermione's stomach jumped and she took the first steps toward the enclosed space, casting a glance around to make sure there was no one there to see them. As the distance between them shrunk when she passed by, Hermione couldn't stop her hand from reaching out the few inches it took to brush his knuckles with her own. Before she knew it, their slow tentative orbit around each other turned into a free-fall plummet to earth, _a collision_, and suddenly the door was closing behind them with a snap that was simultaneously both hushed and profoundly loud.

* * *

And there she was, wasn't she, just waltzing up the stairs toward the pair of them, flakes of snow caught in her brown curls - would she be alright with him pushing his fingers into them? - and quite possibly in the two days it had been since he had seen her, he might have forgotten just how liquid and honied her eyes looked. How was that even possible at this point?

George kept his hands in his pockets to keep from shaking, to keep from lunging at her, as a reminder to keep his hands to himself - _on himself, _steam and heat, dripping water -

_Not helpful, George._

It hardly mattered because after Fred left they shared a few words and it didn't even matter because the moment her skin touched his, just innocently, just knuckles to knuckles, it could have been accidental for all he knew, but the moment they touched, all bets were off.

It was a flurry, like a flurry of snow outside, one that hushed and quieted and calmed and secluded -

No, it was nothing, _nothing_, like that -

It was -

It was -

It was a kaleidoscope of contradictions, of chilled skin and hot breath, of distance and of closeness, an immediate juxtaposition and sweet, sweet relief.

George's back thumped against the wall as Hermione's small hands made contact with his chest and cemented him there. His heart felt like it may as well be beating right out of his chest, pounding a steady and heavy beat, straining to jump out of its confines. His shoulder blades were pressed there firmly, her body pressing against his in an instant, a _glorious _instant, and she tugged on his neck to lower his head. It was just a fraction of a second before her lips connected with his hotly and it took even less time for her to convince his mouth to open for her, so small a delay that he was certain it wasn't measurable. The moment her tongue slid against his -

_Bloody hell, she'd be the death of him _-

Hermione was small under his palms, winter clothes and all, but she was holding her own in such a way that she had him rooted to the spot. He couldn't have moved, even if she hadn't been holding him there.

Her lips melded with his and a zing of pleasure skittered over his skin, both inhaling deeply through their noses. The pressure in his chest had all but disappeared and this, _this_ was what he had been craving from the moment he had been whisked away by Dumbledore's portkey.

Hermione was pressing closer - always closer - body molding deliciously to his, and it didn't matter that she was still in bulky winter clothes. In fact, the scent of her, of Hermione and the shampoo she used and just _her_ filled his nostrils and George was positive her scarf smelled so good he might just come on the spot -

George's hands made quick work of her coat, and images of their first kiss flitted through his mind for a moment before he pushed off from the wall and backed her up against the other side of the closet. The moment he leaned his weight against her, Hermione's mouth dropped open in a gasp and George bent to battle her tongue with his own once more.

Hermione let out a long groan, making George shiver as he swallowed it, the sensation causing him to harden even further against her hip, acknowledged only by the sharp intake of air through her nose.

"No, mum said Hermione's gone to try and bring him down. Maybe she can beat some sense into him, and she doesn't need _your_ help to do that," Ginny's voice passed extremely close to the closet door and George and Hermione both froze.

Ron's responding grunt indicated that the two siblings must be climbing the stairs to wait for Harry and Hermione in Ron and Harry's room. As silence fell again, their ragged breathing became more and more obvious.

"I should probably -" Hermione whispered.

"Yeah, 'course -" George stumbled back, releasing her from the wall and resisting the urge to reach out and touch her again.

"Sorry if I -" Hermione was shuffling around in front of him, straightening out her coat he assumed.

"You haven't done anything to apologize for -" he laughed breathily, dragging his fingers through his hair slowly in the dark. It was nearly painful to be this close, to be this hard, to want her so much and not seize the opportunity.

But that would be wrong.

That would be wrong.

"I'm sure we'll be able to talk later?" she suggested and he nodded before realizing she couldn't see him.

"Yeah, sure," he voiced quietly, reaching to twist the doorknob and let her out of the close quarters. As they emerged into the dim light of the hallway, Hermione turned to look up at him and he couldn't stop himself before his mouth opened.

"_Merlin_."

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You look..." George gazed at her, her bright eyes, pink cheeks, wild hair, took in her heavy breathing - he had caused that and wasn't that fantastic? - her swollen lips...

"Horrid?" she asked, raising a hand to smooth out her hair nervously and he shook his head.

"No, _kissable_," George huffed a laugh and Hermione stopped her readjustment of her person before snapping her eyes up to his once more. Her gaze flickered down to his lips and he watched her inner turmoil over the whole mess before deciding to help end her torment. "Go, before som

eone realizes you've disappeared and finds us in a very compromising situation."

The breath she let out might have been meant to be conveyed as comedic relief and a half-laugh but it sounded to George like it was heavily laced with longing and his face split into a wide grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets to disguise...

Who was he kidding, they both knew exactly how hard he was straining against his trousers.

"I'm gonna go..."

"Yeah," George nodded, and forced his feet to remain rooted as she turned, red-faced, and mounted the next flight of stairs quietly. He watched her retreat and disappear, silent as she crept past the room Ron and Ginny were likely in, and scrubbed a palm down over his face.

It was great that she was here and within reach, but now what?

They were in a house full of family, and sure to be bombarded by friends and Order members given the time of the year...

Bugger.

* * *

**A/N: Many many apologies for the lateness, it has been quite the week. Quite a few of you PM'd me to make sure I was okay and yes I am, thank you for your lovely notes. Many of those people who messaged me were all for connecting on different social platforms and I'm completely fine with that, you need only ask for my twitter/instagram/tumblr and we will be in business!**

**Last chapter you guys bumped this fic over the 100 review mark, so _thank you so so so much_, it has been amazing so far. **

**Leave me a review below and let me know just how disastrous you think this holiday break is going to go for our pair. (Or easy and smooth I suppose, but _have you read The Injunction_ because that might give you some idea of my love for drama.)**

**Cheers!**


	18. Chapter 18

That was their first kiss since the beginning of November, nearly 7 weeks ago, the night Harry, Fred and George had been banned from Quidditch by Umbridge. Granted, _that_ kiss had been their only other one, but Hermione tried to push the thought away.

But _how_ had she managed to not let him kiss her again after that?

Oh, right, she had been livid at him putting a spell on her, and then she had been torn up over Angela Sinclair.

Arse.

Hermione climbed the stairs up to the top floor and took a deep steadying breath before knocking on the door behind which Harry had been hiding all day. Her muscles were doing their best to pull her back down the stairs and cement her to George forcibly and, closing her eyes, Hermione prayed for self-preservation. Resolving not to cave and rub her thighs together even a fraction on an inch - and speaking of _inches _-

"I know you're in there," Hermione spoke up, hoping to distract herself from the sheer dampness of her knickers for long enough that the throbbing between her legs ceased. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."

Hermione heard the distinct noises of someone shuffling and getting to their feet before the door was opened for her.

"What are_ you_ doing here?" Harry greeted her and Hermione scoffed and cast a glance at Buckbeak over Harry's shoulder. The hippogriff was munching loudly on rat bones and Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly at the grating noise. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."

"Well, to tell the truth -" not really the _whole_ truth, as it were, "- skiing's not _really_ my thing. So I've come for Christmas. But don't tell Ron that, I told him it's really good because he kept laughing so much. Anyway, Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who's serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway," she switched topics, "let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum's lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches."

As Harry trudged dejectedly behind her down the steps, Hermione prayed that George wouldn't be anywhere in sight and she heaved a sigh of relief when she didn't spot him on the landing at all. She also prayed that the pinkness of her cheeks could be passed off as from the cold outside and that no one would suspect her of shutting herself in a nearby closet with one of the twins for a good stress-relieving snog. As expected, Ron and Ginny were waiting for the pair of them, sitting on Ron's bed.

"I came on the Knight Bus," Hermione continued, pulling off her coat and laying it over the footboard of Harry's bed. "Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing the next morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit. So..."

Taking a seat beside Ginny, Hermione stilled and looked up at Harry.

The poor boy looked miserable with whatever was weighing him down, and not for the first time Hermione wished he would not keep the things that worried him so much to himself as often as he did.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, reached for a sandwich from the piled plate sitting on the side table between the beds.

"Fine," Harry grunted, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she quipped back, eager to get his little tiff out of the way. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."

"They do, do they?" Harry said, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron had the decency to cast his eyes down but Ginny didn't flinch.

"Well, you have! And you won't look at any of us!" she declared defiantly as Harry's glare deepened.

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry snapped and Hermione fought the urge to drop her head into her hands.

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," she suggested lightly, feeling her lips quiver with suppressed giggles.

"Very funny," Harry snapped, looking away quickly. Hermione pursed her lips at his reaction. He'd been much more serious and easy to offend this year and it was tiring. How many more times would she have to tell him he wasn't alone in this?

"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," she shot back. "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears -"

"Yeah?" Harry growled quietly, refusing to turn back and look at her as she spoke. Instead he continued to stare out the window at the snow falling quietly on the back yard. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it..."

"We wanted to talk _to you_, Harry," Ginny responded, her lips barely pursing in frustration. "but us you've been hiding ever since we got back -"

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry interrupted, and Hermione could see him bristling at Ginny's words.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny cut in angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

Harry's mouth snapped shut immediately and his face reflected intense guilt for a moment before he looked squarely at her again.

"I forgot," he said by way of explanation.

"Lucky you," Ginny breezed back, coolness rolling off her in waves.

"I'm sorry," he responded. Ron and Hermione were watching the pair of them, eyes flicking back and forth, and Ron gave a quiet sigh of relief when his friend apologized to his sister. "So... so do you think I've been possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asked logically. "Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"

"No," Harry answered, shaking his head.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," Ginny concluded. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

Hermione watched as a certain kind of darkness lifted off Harry's features at the redhead's words and let her shoulders fall loosely. The eye of the storm had passed.

"That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though -"

"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione piped up, drawing the attention of her friends again. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year."

"This was different," Harry protested, though with less venom than he had been using before. "I was inside the snake. It was like I _was_ the snake... What if Voldemort somehow transported me to London -?"

"One day," Hermione felt herself taking on the tone her mother assured her was extremely aloof and not at all becoming for a young lady, "you'll read _Hogwarts, A History_, and perhaps that will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry."

"You didn't leave your bed, mate," Ron assured him. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep about a minute before we could wake you up..."

Harry started pacing the room again, silent in thought, and the others were just as quiet. Hermione rather thought the siblings were also both thinking about how exactly Harry had seen their father get attacked by a giant snake in a secure part of the Ministry, but Hermione found her thoughts wavering in and out of the realm of productive.

George.

Always George.

Hermione very much doubted he had even realized but when she had pushed him back against the wall in that closet, he had expelled the most spine-tinglingly ragged breath right into her ear and the memory of it coloured her cheeks. Heat flooded down her extremities again and Hermione looked over at Harry. He was still pacing.

Her eyelids fluttered and the feel of his lips connecting with hers rang clearly in her memory, making the urge to shiver with satisfaction and want even more pressing.

"_God rest ye merry hippogriffs, let nothing you dismay! Remember Prongs, that prankster, was quite aller-er-gic to hay! To save us all from Snivellie's grease when we were go-one for the day..._"

Sirius' boots thumped up the stairs as he sang loudly and Harry laughed, head thrown back, breaking the mood in an instant.

Later that night, the trio plus Ginny headed downstairs and Mrs. Weasley bustled around, happy to see Harry in better spirits and indeed on any floor lower than the third on which he was staying. She quickly got together tea for everyone, the teapot floating around with a stack of teacups trailing behind it as they made their way to the library for the evening.

"My mother would have a conniption if she saw us traipsing into the library with food," Sirius laughed, bringing up the rear and patting Harry on the back.

Hermione quickly stole her favourite seat on one end of the squishiest sofas in the room, close enough to the fire to be warm but far enough away that she didn't usually feel too hot. It had a small ornately carved table at her end, one with a lamp balanced on it precariously and enough room for a book and a cup of tea and her wand to sit comfortably.

Molly passed the plate of biscuits around, slapping Ron's hand when he went to reach for two and causing Hermione to snort indelicately before falling silent again quickly. A moment later, Fred and George joined the group and everyone continued chatting.

Hermione could feel George's eyes whenever they lingered on her, and as much as she wanted to meet his gaze, she knew it was unwise. Not only were they under the scrutiny of Molly, but Sirius was also a perceptive man and Hermione had been getting the distinct impression that Ginny was starting to catch on that something wasn't quite right.

Nerves wracked, she sat through most of the evening with her head buried in a book and her teacup being refreshed whenever she was more than half-done. The mood at Grimmauld Place was remarkably upbeat considering one of their own had just been attacked and hospitalized a few days prior.

"Right I think it's bedtime," Molly spoke up some time later. "There's an Order meeting later and I want all of you in bed before it starts."

"_Later_? It's nearly midnight!" Ginny said, shocked.

"Yes, well, it's bedtime," Molly hedged.

Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and the twins shared a look and Sirius barked out a laugh.

"Go on," he waved a hand around at them and they started to rise, stretching and making for the door to the hallway.

Hermione's heartbeat picked up, hoping she would get a moment with George, a brush of the hand, anything -

"I'm not even tired," Ginny yawned and Fred snorted.

"Yeah, sure," George voiced from somewhere behind her.

"Goodnight!" Mrs. Weasley called, and she received a chorus of answering farewells as she tidied up after tea and bustled down to the kitchen.

"We're off," Fred said, tugging George with him as he bounded up the stairs and Hermione felt a bit put out, a bit shaky, at the prospect of not being able to...

Anything.

Something.

How were they ever going to get more than a few minutes to themselves here over the holidays?

It was never going to happen.

Hermione let her forehead drop to her mattress once her and Ginny had retreated to their shared room for the night a moment later.

"What's wrong?" the girl asked her as she circled to her own bed and fished around idly for some pyjamas.

"Nothing. Just tired," Hermione voice was muffled, her lips pressing into the sheets and she couldn't be bothered to tilt her head to answer.

"Oh yeah. You had classes and the Knight Bus today," Ginny supplied Hermione with a built in excuse and Hermione grunted back in acknowledgement. Luckily, Ginny didn't press it further and Hermione was able to lay face down and fret over her situation a bit more undisturbed.

She was the smartest witch of her age.

She had to come up with some sort of excuse or ploy or scheme or plan to...

To get George alone long enough to...

Falling and being caught, trembling, the Entrance Hall, pure bliss, utter release, showers and water droplets, steam, towels low on hips, gasps of pleasure, _begs _for release -

"I'm going to have a shower," Hermione declared, pulling her toiletries out of her bag along with a fresh set of sleep clothes to wear after.

It was not as mind-clearing as she had hoped, though in retrospect, it was obvious it wouldn't be. What did her brain default to pulling from memory each time she was particularly worked up? George. George in the shower. George in the shower with his braced arm trembling as he groaned for her.

There had been a time, before all of this, where she would have considered herself a fairly controlled person, one able to see past her hormonal urges and concentrate on her education. One who saw the big picture and didn't focus on the small one. One who was above such things as boyfriends, snogging and having boys chase her around to get a look at her legs.

Tucked back in bed, Hermione concentrated all her efforts to keep from fidgeting around in bed, banning all activities such as rubbing thighs together, thinking excessively of George's lips and imagining the feel of his hands on her skin.

Soon Ginny's breathing levelled out and became deeper, and Hermione's eyes were shut tightly. She was exhausted and relieved to be here with her friends, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not shut her brain off and fall asleep.

She wondered what George was up to -

No.

_No_.

Bad Hermione.

Bad.

Minutes ticked on and Hermione tried to slow her breathing to match Ginny's, hoping that it would remind her body how to calm down, how to fall asleep, but she had no luck.

"Oh, bother," she whispered to the quiet room.

Weighing her options, Hermione decided that even if there was a meeting still in progress, they would be occupied for long enough that a kip down to the kitchen for a cup of tea would be alright. Usually that helped any sleeplessness she was suffering from.

Sliding from bed, Hermione slipped her feet into her pink slippers and pulled her dressing gown on. The house was silent, not even a old creak or settling in the background. The halls were dark, and as she tiptoed past the drawing room on the same floor, she stepped through the bright light that was issuing from under the door. The meeting must have been in full swing now. Pressing an ear to the door lightly, she heard nothing. Hermione hadn't thought she would come across anything but it was always worth a shot.

Continuing down the steps, Hermione slunk into the kitchen and found the kettle sitting cold on the stove. Pulling the top open with a squeak that seemed to echo in the deadly silence of the house, Hermione filled it with enough water to fill a cup and set it back to boil. The hissing of the flame was soothing, and the warm light it cast was comforting.

Hermione made her way to the pantry, stepping inside and casting around in the dim light for the canister with teabags in, knowing it was usually somewhere right at eye level.

"Hey," a whispered greeting made her heart jump and her hands fumble on the shelf as she started, whipping her head around to find George standing in the doorway. His tall litheness blocked out most of the light from the lone flame out in the kitchen and Hermione blinked up at him in a daze.

She immediately recognized the signs.

Pounding heart.

Thrumming veins.

The urge to step closer, always closer -

"Hi," she breathed back. "Cup of tea?" She grasped the canister off the shelf quickly and wiggled it lamely.

"No, I don't think so," he responded lowly.

"I've already got the kettle on," Hermione pressed, not sure what exactly to do.

"I've already taken it off," he chuckled. "I was hoping..."

_I was hoping, too..._

"Yeah, earlier..." Hermione trailed off.

"Are, uhm, are things a bit tense for you too?" George asked delicately.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, her cheeks flushing. "I can't sleep," she gestured around as evidence.

"Me neither."

Silence filled the small space.

"Could I..." George trailed off, the light barely exposing the look in his eye as he regarded her, like prey. He was - he was _hunting_ her.

Oh boy.

All alone.

Dark pantry.

Middle of the night.

Not a soul around, unless you counted the Order meeting that was in session on the floor above them.

This was what mothers warned their daughters about, this exact thing, this exact feeling bubbling up in her chest, spreading down her limbs and dipping between her legs and -

"Yes," she answered impulsively, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second and praying to whoever or whatever was listening to give her strength, to give her relief -

For George to give her relief, for George to pull her close, for George to slide his hands over her body, for George to touch the spots that made her arch into his embrace, _for George, George, George_ -

"Er, I actually just wanted to grab the biscuits..." he pointed to the shelf above her head and Hermione nearly burst into tears at the sudden mortification.

"Oh, I didn't - I didn't mean - oh, nevermind -" Hermione shook her head, letting some curls fall into her face and providing some cover, a place to hide maybe. She needed a hole to climb into, a bed to hide in, something, anything, because he had surely put two and two together because her voice had been so very breathy and -

"You are _so _gullible," he declared, catching her off guard. Hermione looked up just in time to see him take two large strides toward her, effectively closing the distance between them in the pantry. "Come here -"

She was frozen in place for the fraction of a second it took for him to reach out and place his hands surely at the small of her back and in her hair, his fingers threading firmly, the shell of her ear cradled between his thumb and index finger.

All of that in one beat, one miniscule moment.

When his lips slanted over hers, Hermione's brain finally caught up and she gasped before instinctively reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and hoist herself higher, closer to his height.

It was as if no time had passed between then and when they had first seen each other earlier in the day.

"I thought you might not come to Grimmauld and that I would end up going completely mad -" George mumbled against her lips and Hermione shook her head.

"I told you I'd - _oh_ \- I told you I'd -" Hermione could feel herself trembling in anticipation, her body drawn tight and ready and waiting for some signal, a signal that George must have given because goose bumps were spreading liquidly over her skin and his palms were hot on the curves of her hips - when had he pushed her shirt up? - "I told you I'd be coming here."

George didn't give any response other than a throaty chuckle that made warmth rush faster between her legs and maybe he knew, maybe he knew, he must have known because George pressed his front closer to hers, her back making contact with the pantry shelves firmly, almost painfully, digging in.

Hermione was hot, too hot, burning up and melting down and swirling, swirling, his swirling fingers, the calluses on his hands scratching at the skin of her waist and -

"Yes, _please_, yes," slipped out and she didn't even care how wanton she'd sounded because he pressed even closer - was that even possible? - and his hardness made contact with her hip and he shuddered, a sharp intake of air cutting through the atmosphere.

"Is this okay, because I don't think I can - well, I could stop if you wanted me to -" his voice was pained and she knew exactly how he felt because not touching hurt, and touching hurt, too, in the way that it felt _too_ good almost, but there was a promise at least of relief at the end and she was pretty sure that nothing could stop her at this point, nothing except him grabbing her wrists and _making _her stop.

"Please don't stop, whatever you do," she whispered back desperately and his body thrummed against hers. George groaned quietly before resuming the open-mouthed kissing she loved so very much and she released his neck in order to search for the hem of his shirt, her hands skittering down his chest and over his stomach. George's hips jumped forward, searching for more friction, for more glorious friction, and Hermione gave a shaky laugh which he echoed.

One moment it seemed like it was just them, completely of their own free will and enjoying themselves, and other moments it seemed predetermined, premeditated, predestined. Like all of this had happened before, and it was all meant to happen again. Something completely out of their control.

"This is crazy, I'm so sorry about -" George tried to talk but his voice got caught in his throat, a strangled sort of choking noise replacing his voice as Hermione's fingers and palms came into ghosting contact with the skin of his stomach.

George reached down, and for a moment, Hermione was sure that she was going to grasp her wrists and tug her hands off of him. And yes, there he went - that was really a shame, because his skin was heated and soft, her fingertips craving the adventure, the exploration, and now he was going to put an end to it -

"Don't you dare," he growled as she started to retreat and Hermione froze, confused.

She had been expecting him to stop her movements, but upon looking up at his face she didn't know why that had ever crossed her mind. There was no way that the look on his face was one of apprehension. George's eyes were dark, libidinous, wanting, and instead of stopping her, he grasped the hem of his shirt and whipped it over his head.

Hermione's eyes widened momentarily, taking in the dim illumination of George's shoulders, the smooth slope of his chest, the more angled dip the carried on down, the end hidden from view by the band of his underwear peeking out from his pants. Her fingers twitched in realization that she was still touching him, and he seemed quite happy with that fact.

When George dropped his bundled shirt to the stone floor with a quiet flump, his focus narrowed again and the pull between them was palpable, completely undeniable, if only for a second before they were back together again. It was a smooth transition, smoother than Hermione would have thought it would be considering the urgentness with which she grasped his bare shoulders and the demanding way in which he engaged her mouth with his own a moment later.

George's skin was so much softer than she had imagined; perhaps because he was a prankster, a beater, a throw-yourself-in-harm's-way-for-the-fun-of-it sort of person, but she hadn't much considered the possibility of his skin being almost as soft as hers to the touch. She pulled him closer and he grunted, their hips coming back together forcefully and Hermione felt herself grinning against his mouth in satisfaction. She was so focused on smoothing her palms over him that she jumped and inhaled sharply when she felt his fingers again on her sides, she shirt bunching on his wrists as he trailed up, up, _up_ -

"_Ahhhhhh_," she shivered erratically as George brushed his thumbs along the seams where the plane of her stomach suddenly met the swells of her breasts. His answering hum of approval resounded around in her head like it was empty.

Which she supposed it was, empty of everything aside from him, _him_, because how could she possibly concentrate on anything else?

She was finally here, pressed close to him, so close - _not close enough, never enough_ \- so close that his body heat was burning her, it was scalding her, and his fingers where skimming and his thumbs were brushing, and her underwear was beyond damp, and could he just -

"Mmmmm," George growled lowly as Hermione twitched and arched, her back bowing off the edges of the pantry shelves, the back of her head grinding into one of the damn things, but it didn't matter, it didn't matter at all, because George's thumb had oh-so-casually grazed over one of her nipples and she was gone, completely done -

Hermione's chest had frozen, her breath caught as her body tensed in reaction to his ministrations and when it caught up to her brain again - screaming for oxygen by that point - she pulled in a ragged breath thankfully.

Her flesh was puckered, attentive, and he repeated the action. Again her body bowed towards his, though it was not so violent the second time and he took this as a sign of safe passage, moving his hand higher in order to palm her flesh in its entirety. She was lightheaded, really that must have been what had urged her to acquiesce to his every suggestion, because she wouldn't normally perhaps have let him -

Her shirt was over her head in a heartbeat, and she assumed it came to rest somewhere near his.

George was upon her again with one arm curled around her middle to hike her higher on his body and the other hand on her chest again. She was arching, arching, reaching for him, reaching higher, as high as she could go it seemed, and their tongues battled and fought, hot breath shared. And she could smell him, smell his skin and his shampoo maybe, or his soap, or maybe it was just him, but it was delicious, and she thought just maybe, she would never tire of that smell and just maybe - _just maybe_ \- it would always cause moisture to rush south in such amounts.

Hermione kissed George back ferociously, basking in the feeling of being close to him, to kissing him, to feeling him, and she sunk back down on her heels, dragging her hands down over his chest again, and down, down, _down_, wait for it, wait for it_ -_

"_Unnngh_-"

Such an elegant reply from George as his head dropped to her shoulder and his hips jumped toward her fingers as they trailed back and forth along the elastic at his waist.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered, sounding like he was only half-aware that he was speaking at all.

"I don't know what for," Hermione whispered back as he clutched her tighter to him, his hips seeking hers automatically. "Is it okay if I, uhm... touch you?"

"Ha," he huffed out, "you can do any bloody thing you like to me, Granger, and I would enjoy it."

George's head remained on her shoulder, and his mouth was so close to her ear that she could hear his breathing become arrested the farther down she trailed her fingers. The skin around his navel, the slightly defined line that followed his hips down in a slender 'V'. She ran her fingernail over the threads in the elastic, the rough catch of it making his breath hitch in anticipation. Lower she went, over the cotton of his lounge pants, the fabric taut under the pads of her fingers. As soon as she cupped his hardness, he hissed emphatically, the sound trickling down her spine and her memory cataloguing it for a later date. The perfectionist in her wished to remember ever nuance of that sound; the initial break of silence, the way she could hear his chest expand as he drew in the air, the way it petered out nearer to the end but took on a desperate quality as it got quieter.

"You don't have to do this," he ground out and Hermione laughed quietly.

"I know."

"We can just... find a way around you touching me, like last time, in the shower -"

"You're not forcing me. I asked," Hermione assured him, her brain begging for him to shut his mouth, or latch it back onto hers, just anything that would make it easier for her to concentrate on the twitching length in the palm of her hand.

George's was not the first she had touched, brushed, really, this was brushing, in the larger scheme of things.

But she was positive she had never felt one as hard. Which was saying something because the few others had also been young virile men as well and at the time she had thought they were pretty excellent specimens of male prowess.

The ache between Hermione's legs pulsed and urged her to wrap her legs around George's hips immediately, and as fast as they seemed to be speeding just now, that was _too_ fast, and Hermione did somehow still have a grasp on that thought.

The weight of George's head left her shoulder and he used both hands to tilt her head up and devour her mouth once more. Her fingers never ceased, dipping, soothing, caressing, squeezing and his tongue delved as deeply as it could; Hermione noted brokenly that it was as if he was trying to pull something from her, from inside of her, and George would not be content until he had accomplished his goal.

Maybe he would let her...

Yes, she was certain he would be okay with...

Hermione felt her way back up to the band of his sleep pants and hooked a finger into his underwear. Reaching, reaching, he was slowing his ministrations, she could feel his hips grinding but his mouth beginning to pull away in protest, in caution, to tell her again that she didn't owe him anything -

Hermione pushed back, resealing her mouth with his and kissing him firmly, sliding her hand fully into his pants and grasping him decisively and that was when - "Holy fuck, Hermione, you can't just - my _god_, that feels good, don't stop - I can't - I can't - how the hell is this - you didn't even say - a little warning maybe - _shite_, shite, bugger, bollocks -" - George's lips separated from hers and he dropped his head back, the nonsensical rambling starting a moment later.

Hermione could feel his hands trembling, and she could feel something, _something_, racing through her veins at this, this control, this utter control that she had over him, that ran between them, and would he feel the same way when he touched her? Surely he would, it was intoxicating, it was enlightening, it was exhilarating, it was thrilling and rousing and heady.

His hot palms disappeared from her jawline and clenched the edge of the shelf running behind her at shoulder level, his knuckles turning white as Hermione moved her hand, fingers circling his -

Here she was, dripping wet and panting, pressed against the pantry shelves in Grimmauld Place awkwardly - but that didn't matter, it _hardly _mattered - George Weasley's throbbing cock in her grasp and Merlin help her if she wasn't enjoying every last shiver and tremble that either of them shook with -

And nothing felt as right as this, nothing in the whole world, not even scoring perfect on her Arithmancy, Charms _and_ Transfiguration exams -

George's fingers squeaked on the varnished wood on either side of her as he panted to the ceiling and she was pretty sure it was becoming his new mantra -

"Yes, yes, yes, _fuck_, yes, please, _more_..."

The moment Hermione realized it must be awfully dry for him and retracted her hand in order to spit on it, his chin dropped back down and he fastened his lips to hers once more, still panting and mumbling his mantra out of the side of his mouth and in between kisses. Hermione's hand smoothed back over him wetly and he groaned gravelly, his kisses becoming more and more hectic and feverish as she stroked him.

What she wouldn't give to have him push her thighs apart and slide his own fingers into her panties, for him to let her clutch at his shoulders and fly into oblivion - well, the list was small, non-existent even -

"I'm so - I'm sorry about everything, I really am - yes, _please_ \- I'm so _fucking_ sorry - don't stop, don't stop, _don't stop_ \- buggering - fuck - _fuck _ \- Hermione, Herm - I'm - please - my - _fuck_, fuck -" he was sputtering, babbling gibberish.

"I've got you, George," Hermione whispered in his ear and she realized as she was saying it that she did. She had him. She had him.

The little thrusts he was trying to hold back, the ones that propelled him faster and harder into her waiting hand slowed minutely and grew erratic, inconsistent and irregular until finally -

George seized Hermione again, his large hands angling her face for him as he clamped his lips to hers and shook in her hands, his body convulsing and undirected, his hips snapping toward her.

When he had finished, and the trembling had eased a little, George released her lips from the motionless kiss he had been holding her in and dropped his head again to her shoulder, his forehead hot and burning against her skin.

"Thank fuck," he heaved, the tension from his voice, his body, completely gone. He was breathing deeply, still trying to catch his breath she supposed, and he waved a hand vaguely down between them. Hermione's hand had been sticky with his come and she was positive it had gotten on his pants in the very least and he wandlessly vanished the mess.

"Thank you." He straightened gradually, pulling himself up to his full height again. He must have been hunching in the heat of the moment because he towered over her again when she could have sworn he was more eye-level with her just a moment ago.

"I see you're alright with touching me, so does that mean you're okay with me touching you? Because, ah, I feel like I ought to return the favour, considering, ha, everything feels much better after," he rambled - "And during! And during," he added, laughing to himself.

Hermione's breathing was heavy.

George wanted to touch her. He wanted to _touch_ her.

The last time a guy had gotten into her knickers, he'd nearly rubbed her raw and still not managed to make her come, not for lack of trying.

He had trusted her enough, and wanted her enough, to let her touch him. She could do the same, surely?

Hermione took another deep breath.

Yes.

"Yes," she stated. "I mean - yes please."

It would be awkward, wouldn't it? The moment between them would have passed, he'd have finished, the heat would dissipate and then now she was going to let him touch her awkwardly and it would be awkward, so awkward, and how would they ever get passed the awkwardness, so awkward -

George leaned down and kissed her again, slowly at first and then running the tip of his tongue just against the seam of her lips at the very centre and all her hesitancies fell away in the middle of her thought.

This wasn't awkward.

This wasn't awkward at _all_.

The memory of falling into his arms in the Entrance Hall sprang to mind and Hermione could have kicked herself for thinking _this _private pantry was _more_ awkward than coming in the middle of the Entrance Hall as students and faculty were seated eating supper mere metres away around the corner.

No, this was -

This was perfect.

George cinched her to him again with an arm around her waist and she moaned into his mouth when his fingers wasted no time in piqueing a nipple and delving his tongue into her open mouth hotly.

Hermione's skin jumped and jolted under his fingers as they travelled the predicable path down the expanse of her belly and he twisted his wrist, placing his palm flat against her lower abdomen and slid it farther down, tentative.

The moment his fingers began to curve down over her mound tightly, he must have known from her reaction that he had made the right move.

Hermione's hips rolled toward him of their own accord and after so long, not _just _now in this instant, so long refraining from touching him, refraining from thinking about him, refraining from wanting him - not that it had done much good, any of it - she forgot all of it.

Hermione forgot all of it and -

"_George_," she heaved.

"Yes, love?" he asked quietly.

"_Yes_," she gasped.

"Yes what?" he pressed, his fingers smoothing and rubbing in a circle, just tiny circles.

"Inside," she insisted, no longer in control of her own mouth, her own body.

This was what she needed.

He was what she needed.

He was what she was going to get.

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled lowly, lowering his lips to her neck and Hermione angled her head, her gaze falling unseeingly on the pantry door. God, George's lips might be the best things since - nope, his fingers, _his fingers_ \- _they _were the best things ever.

George managed to get his hand down the front of her lounge pants, skimming his fingertips over her knickers tantalizingly, mesmerizingly, and Hermione's body keened for more, more, _more_ -

"Merlin's _beard_, Hermione," George moaned into her neck between kisses as one of his long fingers slid easily over the sopping cotton between her legs, delving just barely, just enough - _not enough at all_ \- so that a digit just scarcely brushed between her slick lips, straining against the material.

"_Unnnnggh_," Hermione felt the utterance slip from her lips as she shook, tightly wrapped around George as he supported her small frame, bracing it against his. The urge to start babbling incoherently was welling up inside of her, pressing outward from the centre of her chest, trickling up toward her lips incessantly and so Hermione used her teeth to clamp her lips shut, hoping desperately, hysterically, that she would not say anything she might regret later - the pull between them was so tightly drawn, either of them could have plucked it like a guitar string -

"_Accio tea bags!_"

Both teenagers froze at the sound of his mother's voice from the other side of the pantry door, Hermione's eyes widening and George's hand stilling against her underwear. The canister of tea that Hermione and George had handled earlier - _not that much earlier really because this got out of hand quite quickly as far as these things go - _the canister slid off the shelf beside Hermione's head with a scratch and bobbed out the pantry door that was opening magically -

Sirius was sitting on the bench running the length of the kitchen table, his back against the edge of it with his elbows propped up and his hands hanging loosely as he stretched his legs before himself.

Hermione watched as the pantry door came to a stop in the open position and Sirius' head turned slowly, painfully slowly, toward them. Hermione's hand raised in slow motion to shield her chest from his inevitable view and the urge to scream, to yell at him to stop, to close his eyes, to stop, _to stop_ -

And his grey eyes landed on them, twisted in a tight embrace, both topless, George's hand indicatively down her pants and she saw the range of emotions cross Sirius' face in infinitesimal detail.

Eyes widening a fraction.

Eyebrows raising a tick.

Lips repressing either a grin or a look of shock, Hermione couldn't tell.

Her mouth was dropping open, _how mortifying_, how could she have been so _stupid_ -

"I'll get that, Molly," his eyes flicked between them and he stood, reaching out of sight for a moment before he reappeared in full, tea canister in hand.

Sirius took one or two steps closer, just enough to reach into the pantry and slide the tea back onto a random shelf and retreat -

Oh, yes it was definitely an evil smirk, yes there it was, oh she wanted to hit him -

Sirius gave a little laugh before hooking the pantry doorknob and pulling it shut with a snap and leaving Hermione and George in darkness.

"Let's have this in the library," his voice suggested, full of laughter on the other side of the door.

"Oh, _fuck_," George swore quietly.

* * *

**A note on age of consent: a few people have asked if anyone will get in trouble if George and Hermione eventually have sex and the answer is no. To my understanding, the age of consent in the UK is 16, and as Hermione had her 16th birthday near the beginning of this fic, it won't be illegal, should it happen. **

**A/N: I'm sorry. (I'm really not.)**

**THOUGHTS?**

**Leave me a review, you lovely people. **


	19. Chapter 19

The footsteps belonging to Molly and Sirius faded as they left the kitchen to move to the library at Sirius' suggestion. Had he just saved them from Molly's wrath?

Well, of course he had. He was an irresponsible prat who -

George shifted and Hermione's brain was violently redirected back to the situation after being somewhat derailed at their close call.

"Are you okay?" George whispered, looking down at her. Hermione could barely see him, the darkness after having been illuminated even more suffocating and stifling.

"Yes," she answered. She still had her hands clasped to her chest, the instinct to cover up before Sirius' eyes had actually landed on them a blessing. Taking stock of her body, Hermione realized that George had moved his hand from cupping her through her underwear to resting on her hip and was immediately grateful for the 'could you remove your hand from the front of my knickers for a tick' conversation not being a necessity.

"Uhh," George breathed, realizing much the same thing in relatively the same moment.

"We should probably..." Hermione felt her insides shout out in protest at where the sentence was going but really, could they continue right there in the pantry with the prospect of getting caught very nearly come to pass? As much as she distinctly remembered her legs shaking in anticipation and the coil deep in her abdomen on the verge of springing apart, they had to leave.

Oh, Sirius was going to be insufferable tomorrow...

And if he told Molly -

Well, he could have just then, shown her George with his hand down Hermione's pants, sucking on her neck deliciously and causing her hips to rock against his palm -

Point was, he could have said something, but in actuality, he had diverted Molly's attention to keep them from getting caught.

How stupid could they have _been_? _The pantry at Grimmauld Place during Christmas hols with literally every person possible inside its walls?_

And they said she was the smartest witch of her age.

"Hey, stop worrying," George hissed in the darkness, her shirt being pushed into her hands.

"Thanks," Hermione breathed, snapping back to the present.

"I feel - I feel bad, Hermione, because I -"

"It doesn't matter -" Hermione mumbled back, her limbs shouting out for her to seize him again, to spread her legs again, to -

"It _does_ matter, it does - I know it does, you know it does, so let's not beat around the bush here," George shuffled at her side, his voice muffling for a moment as he pulled his own shirt over his head. "You _cannot_ be comfortable."

Hermione wasn't. She wasn't comfortable. She felt too hot in the stuffy space and too cold because she was not in his arms. She felt slow and lethargic as she straightened her shirt and pulled her hair up out of the neck but too jittery and fast as her heart hammered a familiarly loud staccato against her ribs. She felt too big for the space they were in, with her needs and wants pulsing and pushing up, up, _up _out of her it felt like, but she was also so small, so small next to him because he was tall and large and dominating, however sweet his eyes were, however captivating the flush of his cheeks was after he had allowed her to touch him and help him find release.

"I know - _I know_," her voice took on a whiney longing as they peeked out around the pantry doorway, the coast clear. Hermione took the first step out, her ears straining for some sort of indication, anything, any faint noise that might give them a second to hide again.

"Well, you know as well as I do that you can hardly go around like that -" George mumbled and Hermione snapped her head around, finger raised to her lips in the internationally understood symbol for 'shut your bloody mouth as we're about to get caught any second you dolt'.

They continued to creep through to the stairs and then ascended quietly up to the first floor again. The drawing room door was open and the room within was dark. Hermione didn't blame the Order members for leaving so quickly. It was late, and people were likely exhausted. After Arthur's attack, the Order had been on high alert which meant naturally high stress, and as hard as they tried to keep the escalation from the students home for the holidays, it was quite obvious that things were not as good as they could be.

"What do you propose, George? Because right now it's half three in the morning and Sirius has already caught us -" Hermione hissed as they approached safer grounds away from Molly and the Black heir. She turned to him, a hard look on her face. George had been following after her up the stairs, and when they reached the landing outside the room she was staying in with his little sister, he raked a hand through his hair roughly, frustrated.

"I don't know, I could help, I could - I feel bad because I - I got to -" George floundered, the situation uncomfortable for them both. Hermione grimaced and waved a hand at him.

"Maybe - maybe tomorrow -" she said unconvincingly.

"I'll get Fred to -" George started, but a loud thump from the kitchen interrupted them.

"...Right, well, it's bed for me, Molly, thanks for the tea. You ought to get some sleep as well," Sirius' voice floated up to them quietly in the early morning lull of the house.

A shared look of alarm passed between them and Hermione pushed George toward the stairs to the second floor.

"Go!" she hissed, easing her own door open and slipping inside quickly.

Hermione barely heard George hop up the steps and out of earshot before Sirius walked by on his way up as well, the latch of the door catching quietly as he passed. Hermione grimaced, hoping that he had not heard it, praying that he had not heard it...

Ginny was still fast asleep and Hermione barely moved the covers and sheets of her bed as she slunk back into it, pretending to no one that she had not just been up and about, down in the kitchen.

The lines of George's stomach under her palms, the soft skin on the inside of his hipbones under her fingertips, his body wrapped and shaking around hers.

Tomorrow was not going to be enjoyable.

Not in the least.

* * *

George opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light coming in from the window of the bedroom. Rolling onto his side, it became immediately apparent that it had snowed overnight, the brightness resulting from the regular daylight reflecting around dazzlingly, lighting up the nooks and crannies of the dreary Black house. It sent the heavy dark wood carvings of the four-poster beds into stronger relief, and George's eyes traced over the curves and edges for a few moments.

Fred's bed was abandoned, the blankets sitting in haphazard drifts and dunes from where Fred had pulled them loose and rolled around in the night before leaving it when he had woken up. Sliding a warm palm across his face, the very beginnings of scruff scratching his skin, George blinked the sleep from his eyes and groaned, stretching languidly and feeling his joints crack.

It had hardly been the typical start to the winter hols, but maybe things were looking up?

Well, as long as he could convince Sirius not to tell anyone about last night.

The older Marauder would surely keep a secret or two?

His mind drifting to Hermione, George wondered idly how she was making out. He had been so torn the night before because - well, he got his but she certainly did not get hers and they both knew that pain intimately. So stubborn was she was she had insisted she was fine but the tightness in her brows, and the stiffness in her stance had spoken loud and clear.

He would have to find a way to get some time alone with her. He couldn't very well let her walk around like that for the whole break, knowing the sorts of thoughts that would be running around it her head, seeing the effects like a blinding beacon so clearly and wondering how no one else was picking up on it. She would have dark circles smudged under her eyes from sleeplessness, she would start walking into things and banging her elbows on doorjambs and suddenly seem like she had almost no depth perception because, well, he hadn't had any when he was like that, he knew from experience. The only sort of spatial awareness he'd had was his own relation to Hermione. Everything else had fallen away.

And so she would be the same, walking around like a zombie, clumsy, and trying to keep her body from colliding with his - closer, always closer.

He couldn't let that happen, not when the solution was so easy. Not when the solution allowed him to wiggle his fingertips under the band of her pyjama pants, allowed him to slide his hand down, down, _down_ -

Climbing out of bed and stretching his long limbs once more, George made his way out and down the stairs, the smells of breakfast still in the air.

"There you are! I was wondering what was keeping you." His mum bustled about the kitchen and set a plate down for him at the largely empty table. George's eyes landed on the two older Marauders sitting there casually with a pot of tea, Sirius looking every bit the smooth and dapper heir to the house and Remus looking like he'd rolled out of bed just seconds before George.

"Thanks mum," George rasped out. "Morning, Lupin, Sirius," he continued as he shuffled into the kitchen the next morning. George kept his gaze easy but watched Sirius for any indication of... well, anything.

"Good morning," Sirius drawled. "Late night?" His grey eyes danced with mirth.

"Please call me Remus," Lupin yawned, and George was thankful he did not have to give an answer to Sirius. Best not tempt the dragon. "Thanks, Molly," Lupin continued as the matriarch set a plate full of sausages, bacon and blood pudding down in front of him.

"Full moon?" George nodded towards the plate, a bit of fried tomato hiding under one of the sausages making him crack a grin.

"In three days," the werewolf nodded slowly, taking his knife and fork to the meal immediately, his attention lured and caught. Sirius, however, remained focused on George entirely as he sat down at the table in front of his plate and George tried not to look like he noticed.

"Get _into_ anything last night?" he asked George lowly and George's eyes flicked up to make sure his mother hadn't heard the intonation. Lupin looked up and gave his friend an inquiring glance before going back to his breakfast with enthusiasm.

"_No_," George answered pointedly and Sirius sat back in his chair with a dangerous look on his face.

"Molly, have you seen Hermione?" he asked, tipping his head to the side but not removing his gaze from George.

_His Hermione_.

"Oh - no. Poor dear is still sleeping, Ginny tells me she's had a hard time of it lately so we're letting her have a lie in. Why?"

_Not likely_.

Laying awake or tossing and turning, maybe.

"Oh I just found a book she might be interested in," Sirius answered smoothly.

"When she comes down I'll send her your way," Molly nodded before turning back to the washing up.

Oh, it was going to be like that? Hermione wasn't going to be happy.

* * *

"Ah, George."

He turned from the task at hand to see Sirius sidle into the library later that morning. His mother had given all her children small cleaning tasks and George had been asked to take care of the library. He was just in the middle of levitating all the furniture when the man of the house sauntered in.

"Sirius," George started, but the older man held up an aristocratic hand.

"If you would," he motioned for George to lower the furniture. When he complied a moment later, Sirius settled himself into his favourite wingback chair, the dark rusty burgundy of the sumptuous fabric screaming Gryffindor in a house full of Slytherin. Sirius waved his hand at the couch opposite him as he leaned back to the side into the corner of his chair and crossed his legs, folding his hands then onto his stomach loosely.

"Look, I know you -"

"There's no need to get shirty here, I just want to make something clear," Sirius enunciated forcefully, but his eyes betrayed how much enjoyment he got out of shutting George up.

"Right then, let's get this over with," George adjusted himself on the sofa and folded his hands similarly to Sirius.

"Get what over with?" Sirius laughed.

"What do you want?" George asked slyly.

"What do I _want_? A great many things, most of which you cannot give me," Sirius answered.

"No I mean, what do you want to keep quiet?" George pressed.

"Keep quiet? I was never planning on outing your secret," Sirius grinned. "By the way, I didn't think she'd have the guts to do something like that with a room full of Order members a floor away. Good for her."

Sirius' laughter barked out again and George frowned in confusion.

"If you weren't planning on telling my mum what we were up to -" he felt a blush start to creep up toward his collar, hoping Sirius didn't see it "- then what _do_ you want?"

"You misunderstand me," Sirius gave an easy smile before inhaling slowly, as if deciding how to voice something. "Hermione is... possibly the smartest witch I know or have known - definitely top five - and I owe her my life. Her parents aren't overly involved in this side of her life, which leaves the spot open on this, considering we've already established I won't be telling your parents."

Oh... _oh_.

"No, it's not like -" George started, as realization sunk in. Sirius thought they were dating. Sirius thought they were an item. And Sirius was giving him a odd version of a 'don't hurt my baby girl' talk. Odd because he clearly thought it was funny and harmless but still thought it necessary to warn George about the consequences of any ungentlemanly behaviour.

If he only knew.

"Listen carefully," the man warned, and George stilled his anxious movements. Sirius' eyes had become more intense and George held his breath. Hermione was going to kill him for not being able to correct Sirius' interpretation of their relationship. Relationship?

"This is very important. I like you, George, I always have, and so I'm not very worried because I know you're good person. And this is the important bit - _I owe her my life_ \- and so I better not hear that you've hurt her, or you will have _me _to answer to. Former convict, remember?"

"Falsely incarcerated," George snorted, looking for a way to ease the tension he was feeling.

"Either way," Sirius held his gaze firmly for a moment before cracking a smile. "Just be careful with her. She takes care of everybody. The person who takes care of _her _has got a lot to handle by default."

Visions of Hermione yelling shrilly at him and Fred, Hermione's skirt disappearing around a corner with an angry snap, Hermione threatening him and uttering dangerous words warning him not to touch her, Hermione fleeing from the room when she caught him with Angela Sinclair -

"That's for sure," George let out his breath.

"I'm sure I hardly need to tell you to be careful," Sirius continued.

"Yeah, she's a well-placed Confringo, that one," George quirked his lips and sat back with ease, running his hand through his sleep mussed hair.

"Mhm, but what I _actually_ meant was," Sirius gave an almost imperceptible snort, "don't get her pregnant."

George's cheeks flushed as if a fire had caught some particularly dry underbrush and spread in a fraction of a second.

"I haven't - We -" he stuttered. What did one say to the pseudo-father of one's not-girlfriend who had caught the pair of teenagers red-handed the night before?

"No need to elabourate, really, I know how teenagers are," Sirius drawled, knowing just how much pain he was putting George through. "I was a particularly loose one, but just make sure you're careful. And best not to get caught in pantries from now on."

"We - I - Well, it isn't exactly..." George sighed, mashing his face with his hand tiredly.

"Well, you haven't told anyone, I take it. And that's up to you, none of my business, but as long as you're both happy, it hardly matters, does it?"

If only things were that easy.

As the afternoon wore on and the blush slowly faded from George's neck, Hermione still hadn't made an appearance and he was getting a bit anxious. He knew she must be suffering the effects of the spell, and the girl was too stubborn for her own good.

Of course he would help her.

He'd said just as much the night before with words, and he'd been sure they'd made more progress with her trusting him again.

He'd let her touch _him_ for Merlin's sake. Knowing that she could cause him a world of pain on a whim if she wanted. But he'd done it.

Well, it was that and the fact he'd finally cracked when given the chance to let her...

And now she was refusing him that redemption.

Because that was what it was.

It was a chance to prove that he wasn't going to be an arse about everything, that he was there with her, suffering with her, trying to get through it with her, and that he was sorry. That he would do anything. That she was his.

_She was his?_

Yes, she was his.

Maybe she didn't understand yet.

Maybe she didn't see that he was _hers_ yet.

Maybe she didn't feel it yet because she hadn't allowed him to touch her?

He'd felt it before though. He'd felt the urge to pounce on that Eddie git every time they'd come within sight of each other. He'd felt the urge to rip him limb from limb when he'd said those things about Hermione - _his Hermione_ \- and he'd felt the urge to grind his bloody face into the ground - which he ended up doing, in fact - maybe Hermione hadn't seen the motivation he'd had behind it.

George looked down at his right hand, turning it gazing at the healing knuckles. They were still a bit pink on the tips, not sore, no scabs thanks to Pomfrey, but George could feel the impact of his fist and Eddie's left cheek like it had just happened, he could hear the resounding crack of the back of his skull when George had followed him down to the stone floor and brought his elbow back again - feel the blood rushing in his veins - _his _\- how dare that fucker open his mouth about her -

"Where's Hermione?"

Fred was suddenly at his side and George dropped his hand.

"I don't know. Haven't seen her," he answered.

"Just about everyone is upstairs trying to help Sirius with Buckbeak's room," Fred shivered in disgust. "You should go and see what's wrong."

His twin was right.

He just prayed they wouldn't get caught, innocent visit or not.

Up on the first floor, George knocked quietly on the closed door behind which he was sure to find Hermione.

"Hermione? Its me," he said lowly. "Can I come in?"

"No," came a strangled response.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered again. "I'm just tired."

"But Hermione," he stared, "you know what'll help."

"Yes, _thank you _George, I'm aware. I'll see you a bit later."

George sighed and turned, making his way farther up the stairs to find Ron, Ginny, Harry, Molly and Sirius occupied with cleaning out the room Buckbeak had been staying in since his arrival. Suddenly, Fred's reaction made sense. The stench alone -

"Oh good you're here to help. Grab a mask!"

* * *

Hermione's stomach growled.

Loudly.

She hadn't eaten all day.

The need to get up and face the rest of the house after that mortifying moment when Sirius had caught George with his hands down her pants in the pantry replayed over and over in her mind paralyzed her. Surely he had told everyone. Surely Molly would think less of her. Surely things would come out and people would get in trouble and everyone would have their eyes on her and George and they'd never get a second alone together for the rest of the break and they'd both go mad -

_Breathe, Hermione._

Even if all of that wasn't true, she knew she'd feel the desire to be near George again. The urge to have his hands roam her skin again. She craved his touch, just as before, before that time in the Entrance Hall, before all that when she was sleeping terribly and barely functioning and they were getting by on touches under the work table in the library.

She _knew_ it wouldn't work, not that way. She _knew_ they would both need more. George had gotten his more last night, but -

Could she let him... to her?

The image of him hunched over that Hufflepuff girl still caused her chest to twinge.

That was a sign, surely, for her to keep her distance.

What if he...

What if he did it again?

Well, that was unlikely, if solely for the reason it didn't help any.

Neither could find relief with anyone else, that much had been made clear.

And on the other hand, was she even capable of saying no and telling him to stop if they found themselves in such a situation where they would not get caught?

The temptation would be too strong, she was sure of it.

A knock at the door startled her.

"Hermione? It's me, can I come in?" George's low voice, his quiet voice, slipped under the door toward her like a siren's call.

_This_ was exactly what she meant. The desire would be too great - it was _already_ too great, even without him standing just there on the other side of the door - she already wanted to fling the damn thing open and devour him and have him devour her and _what_ was this bloody spell anyway to think it had the right to do this to her -

"No," she gritted out, willing her body to stay still, stiff as a plank and on her bed.

Was she vibrating with the effort to restrain herself?

This couldn't go on.

_This can't go on._

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just tired."

_Just tired._ Ha.

"But Hermione," he started up again and she closed her eyes in order to focus on anything that was not the lilt of his voice, "you know what'll help."

"Yes, _thank you _George, I'm aware. I'll see you a bit later," she bit out, hoping, hoping, _praying_, that he would leave long enough for her to make up her mind.

What exactly was she going to do?

_Deep breath_.

* * *

"Look, I'm not entirely sure what's going on but you and George should talk about whatever it is because you're driving me mental," Ginny stated firmly as she shut the bedroom door behind herself. "All day he's been glancing around like he's expecting something, or worrying over something, and all day you've been hiding in here and I know there's nothing wrong with you."

The redhead put her hands on her hips and regarded Hermione expectantly.

"There's nothing going on -" Hermione sputtered.

"Nothing? Really? Do you take me for an idiot?" Ginny pressed on. "You don't have to tell me, but go talk to _him _at least. Save the poor arse from mooning over you and making himself look like a prat."

Hermione remained motionless.

"Look, I _know_ there's something going on, and now you've missed dinner and haven't even snuck off to the library to read so there's obviously something you need to sort out. I've persuaded Fred to come keep me company by challenging him to an epic throwdown of Exploding Snap, though I'm sure he knows what's going on anyway and would let you two talk if you asked," Ginny continued. "Will you please say something? Anything?"

"Er," Hermione cleared her throat. "Thank you?"

"That'll do, I suppose," she sighed. "Go on." She hooked a thumb over her shoulder before moving toward her own empty bed and waiting for Hermione to get up and get a move on.

A few minutes later, Hermione found herself standing in front of the twin's door, fidgeting nervously with her shirt hem and wondering what exactly she ought to say.

"Hermione, I know you're out there. Just come in, will you?" George's voice caught her off guard for the second time in as many hours.

Why was this so hard?

Hermione reached out and twisted the old brass door knob and took a step into the room. It looked much like hers and Ginny's, old four-posters made of dark cherry, heavy linens that spoke of class and wealth, wallpaper that smelled expensive even after all the years that had passed.

"Perfect timing!" Fred piped up. "I was just challenged to an Exploding Snap Tournament and I can't possible turn those down." He gave her a bright smile before brushing by, his footsteps thumping down the stairs from the direction she had come from and leaving George and herself in silence.

"Feeling better?" he asked after a few moments.

"Not - not really," Hermione confessed, clasping her hands together to keep from shaking.

She could feel the pull, it was tugging her incessantly towards him, she could feel it sway her on the spot, she could hear her brain calling out to her feet to move, step by step until she was in his lap -

"Well, come sit down." George's eyes were intense on hers. "I've got some news."

"Oh?" Hermione intoned, careful to take small steps after shutting the door, small steps and controlled steps and measured steps until she was seated at the foot of his bed and breathing heavily and trying to keep her head because he was _just there_ and she could do many things to him _just there_, so appropriate - _inappropriate_ \- that he was sitting there on his bed, one knee propped up -

This was ridiculous.

"It's about Sirius," he uttered, regaining her attention immediately, the nagging urge to reach out and touch the skin of his ankle momentarily stalled. "You didn't come down today..."

"No, I..." Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry. I really didn't want to see... his smug face or hear his taunting or anyone else's teasing but it turns out he didn't say anything right? Ginny had no clue what was going on, just that _something_ was."

"Yeah, he, uh," George chuckled and Hermione felt the mattress wiggle under her thighs as he shook. "He embarrassed the shite out of me on purpose - not in front of anyone at least -" he amended at the look on her face. "Well, he tried, but Lupin was too interested in stuffing his face."

"Full moon," Hermione nodded in understanding, letting her breath go.

"Yeah, he got me alone earlier and proceeded to tell me if I hurt you I would have an ex-convict to deal with, and also to be careful," George tittered, and Hermione frowned.

"He said that?" she asked, trying to stay focused as George shifted on the bed and motioned for her to join him in leaning back against the headboard.

Dangerous territory -

But she'd hardly had that thought before she found herself crawling towards the head of the bed and into the bubble of warmth that smelled so deliciously like George.

"Yeah. And to be _careful_, if you get my drift," he half elaborated and Hermione gaped at him when she stilled at his side.

George laughed and reached for her hand and she was powerless, watching the movement in slow motion, feeling the prickle at his nearness, at his skin inches from hers, centimetres, tiny hairs standing on end and the completion of the circuit when his fingers touched to her palm.

His eyes were fixed on her face, and she couldn't help but gasp plainly, starkly, loudly in the stifling room.

And so there they were, weren't they, at a slatemate because they both knew what would help, they both knew how this worked now even if they didn't understand why, even it they didn't have all the answers, they knew this.

George knew this.

She knew this.

It was inescapable.

_He_ was inescapable.

Ignoring it and fighting it was illogical, was it not? They had no cure, no counterspell, no remedy -

And to be perfectly honest, she was beginning to appreciate the way his arms flexed when she got closer to him in the hallways, as if he wanted only to reach out a snatch her away to some secret alcove - which he likely did if her own feelings had any bearing on the situation - and the way he searched her eyes sometimes, as if he was hunting for some sort of answer in her gaze, some confirmation, _something, something_ -

And did they need a cure, a counterspell, a remedy?

Right now, she didn't want one.

With blood pulsing quickly and nerves tingling and heart racing and breath quickening and body beginning to shake, she needed nothing but this right in that moment, nothing but _him_ \- _he was hers_ -

_Hers_.

"Maybe we should talk about how we're going to spin this again, since people are going to start noticing something is off..." George started, keeping his gaze even on her, never wavering.

"I can't think right now -" Hermione started but as she spoke, George began to open his mouth again to interrupt her and his lips, _his lips_, just barely opened, just barely pouted, just barely poised and -

"Later, then," he mumbled, raising a hand and sliding it into her hair, his fingers hooking in her curls and bringing her closer to him - always closer -

And the familiar sear of George's lips touching hers came at her like a freight train barrelling down the tracks, like an avalanche of crushing tumbling snow, like a tsunami of crashing churning water, sudden and sense-consuming and leaving her completely helpless.

"Just let me help you," he pressed his lips to hers as she responded fervently, speaking between movements. Hermione's fingers were digging into his thigh and she was twisted and contorted and when exactly had she done that to herself to angle better into him? She didn't remember her back leaving the headboard, not at all and -

It tumbled out of her before she had the chance to think, to analyze, and she hastily acknowledged that it was a snap decision that she had been keeping herself from making but that the answer had always been clear, just perhaps not to herself, amazingly -

"_Yes_," she breathed hotly and his hands -

His hands -

They were on her hips - well, rather, one grabbing a hip bone and the other reaching over and hooking her thigh and - Christ, when did he get so strong? Had he always been that _strong_?

George all but lifted her, pulling her onto his lap in a move that one might have thought would be awkward but really just ended up making her insides clench in anticipation as he settled her hips over his, his grip firm and unyielding. As if he was telling her to _stay_.

His chest was shaking and he was laughing at her, his cheeks red and his red hair mussed from what she assumed her hands had done because a few moments ago he hadn't looked like that.

"What?" she asked, flush and heart pounding and body tingling pleasantly, so very pleasantly.

"That noise you just made," George reached for her again and pulled her down a fraction to pry her lips open in another heated kiss. His tongue was hot and one moment it felt as if he was welcoming her in and the next he was pushing back into her mouth with vigor. Hermione could feel her limbs shake and she knew he knew instantly where she was on the scale of one to ready to take someone's eye out in regards to the effects of the spell.

"I didn't make a noise," she protested but gasped a moment later when he gripped her hips again, holding them in place as he lifted his own, just enough to ensure that she felt him through her pyjamas. He was still wearing his day clothes, old jersey soft under her fingertips but his jeans -

_His jeans_ -

Rough against the cotton of her pants, rough in the most sensitive place, rough in the very best of ways - the edge of the fly catching along the seam of her bottoms, the back and forth making blurry spots fade in and out of her vision.

Planting her knees and grasping the edge of the headboard in her hands, Hermione followed the yearning for more, more, _more_, and pressed closer to George, pulled herself closer to George, pushed her hips closer to his.

And this was exactly what she had been craving, yes, straddling George and finding whatever friction he had to offer and her head tipped back just as George's fingers slipped beneath her shirt and tracked a familiar path up over her ribs. The moment his fingertips brushed the gentle swell of her breast, her nails bit into the wood of the bed frame but when he brushed a peaked nipple -

It was as if bright hot sunlight had finally danced across her skin after ages in the dark and damp, spreading goosebumps up and down her extremities in delightfully painful eruptions. It hardly even mattered that she was perched atop George Weasley, it hardly mattered that someone could possibly walk in even though just about everyone was in bed, it hardly even mattered that she had been undecided about all of this all day up until a few minutes ago -

What mattered was the constant movement of her hips over his, directing the hard ridge of him to the aching point between her legs that begged for attention, screamed for it - George placed one palm flat against the small of her back, pressing and urging her forward more firmly, his breath hot on her neck and his other hand still on her chest. When he tugged the shirt up over her head, her hair rose and fell when it came free of the neckline and - _were those his lips on _ \- yes they were, oh gods they were on her, and that was certainly his tongue laving and -

"George," Hermione moaned, pushing harder.

And she wished desperately that he would press her into the mattress, she wanted to feel the weight of him there between her legs, against her, she wanted him to be the one moving, driving her toward ecstasy, spiralling -

"Hold on," he groaned back, lifting her again and dropping her bottom back down onto the mattress on the other side of him, swooping down over her again and affixing his hips back against hers as if he could read her mind.

"_Can you read my mind_?" she mumbled nearly incoherently as his mouth descended upon her skin once more.

"Hardly," he answered with a puff of hot air near her belly button and Hermione jumped.

"Where are you going?" she asked sharply, her hips rising off the bed as his palms pushed her thighs farther apart, making room for him as he slithered halfway down the length of her body.

"Just taking these off," he responded. His fingers gripped the waistband of her pants and he slipped them down her legs and tossed them over his shoulder somewhere.

Hermione felt the urge to protest, to reach out and tug them back into place, but it was fleeting and momentary and hardly necessary because in the next second he was kissing her again and just like the night before in the pantry, his fingers where ghosting over the wet fabric of her underwear. Her hips were lifting, circling, following his every move like they'd been entranced, captivated completely by his ministrations.

She was sure she was flushed, every inch of her felt like it was hurtling back toward Earth from orbit, catching and flaring and falling and burning and combusting. Was this heaven or was it hell or was it neither and something much much more than either put together?

"_Unnngh_," he uttered into the shell of her ear, his fingers probing incessantly and making her head spin in a daze, a haze of shimmering heat and rolling against each other.

"More please," she asked, no, she begged, that's what she was doing right now, she was _begging_ him for more, more, more. More of him on her, touching her -

"If you're sure," was his response and he sat up at her disjointed nod. Hermione's fingers remained clutching the fabric at his shoulders and he retreated, he allowed her to pull it free of him. "Hold on to that, love, cause you're going to need _something _to hold on to."

A shiver raked down her spine at the intent in his voice and -

Surely he didn't think she would let him - so suddenly -

"Relax," he laughed, reaching from his kneeling position to grasp the only elastic left at her waist, the only fabric left that covered any part of her to his eyes. "I'm not going to do anything you aren't alright with." And suddenly -

Suddenly it was okay.

_He _was okay.

And then the thin sopping cover was gone and she was bare, the air puckering her skin cooly in sharp contrast to the warmth, the sizzling heat radiating from between them, shuddering between them like the waves rising in the air from hot pavement in the middle of summer -

And he was back against her, his jeans dragging against her thighs delightfully, his hand on her hip.

"_Please_," she slipped out again and he engaged her in a lip lock that sucked the very air out of her lungs, his fingers trailing along the crease where thigh met hip, her muscles bunching and jumping, the air freezing in her lungs before -

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, his fingers making the first uninhibited contact, and Hermione's back bowed painfully off the bed beneath her. "Holy _fuck_, Hermione."

It was liquid heat, it was courage, it was hot want, it was incessant churning desire and she felt her chest vibrate with triumph as he brushed up and down the seam of her, dipping in shallowly at first before diving - _diving_ -

Hermione's eyes sought out George's feverishly and he looked completely and utterly content to have her tugging on his hair and writhing under him, pressing and swirling his fingers in her heat, a face that displayed perfect rapture, complete elation. But for her it still wasn't enough, it was never close enough, never.

"George, _more_," she insisted wantonly, feeling a coiling, a tightening start to build.

"Are you -" he pulled back, unsure, his cheeks pink and his eyes sparkling and the length of him pressing into her thigh, distracting her.

"_Inside, _please," she breathed heavily. "And please don't ask if I'm sure again. I'm bloody sure, just - _ahhhh_."

She had to hand it to him, he followed orders to the letter, sinking a single digit into her slowly, the angle of his hand on her changing to accommodate the twist of his wrist. And it was glorious, it was shaking and it was thrusting against him and light and heat and -

It was red hair poking out from between her fingers, it was freckles along the bridge of a nose, it was a low rumbling voice she felt in the very centre of her chest, it was bloody knuckles and collapsing in public and zinging energy and -

Hermione's blood was racing, demanding more oxygen and her chest fought to catch up, to supply her lungs with enough air - _was there none left in the room? Had she used it all? Had they burned it all up?_ -

"Would you like another?" George asked, so politely, so docilely, as if he didn't have a finger buried in her knuckle deep and gently moving in and out of her at his leisure.

"Yes please," Hermione gasped in response.

Time stood still as he pulled his hand back and she felt the immediate loss of him but in a beat he was pressing into her with _two_ fingers and she wasn't entirely sure both would fit at the same time but she wanted both, oh she wanted _both_, and he would give her _both_ because she had asked for it, pleaded for it.

She was too far, she was gone, she was off-planet but the time he was resituated inside her, fingers curling and brushing her slick walls and then -

His thumb - that was surely his thumb - made contact with her attentive bundle of nerves, it didn't matter that he was now just watching her face, that he was not smothering her in kisses, the he was observing her limbs shake around him, that he was measuring the intensity of her hip quivers, none of that mattered, she didn't even care because -

White.

White and silence.

Utter silence in the vacuum of a void.

Perhaps this was what it felt like to be near something exploding.

Perhaps this was what it felt like to _be _the thing that did the exploding.

Perhaps her body was strewn around the room in fragments now, perhaps her parents never saw her whole again.

Perhaps Harry and Ron would come looking for her in the morning and have to clean her up and maybe they could put her back together, magic was a wonderful thing.

When the colours of the room started to seep back into her consciousness and she was coherent enough to realize that she had been moved, the first thing she saw, blinking vaguely, was a blurry shock of ginger hair and the first thing she felt was a gentle heartbeat beneath her cheek.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know! It's been a long time, forgive me. To make up for my absence, it is a monster chapter.**

**You have all been so lovely with your reviews and messages, truly, I appreciate it all. **

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	20. Chapter 20

Sitting in the window nook of the library, Hermione lazed about as she had done all day, enjoying a large cup of tea and a thick tome she had plucked from the Black family shelves. This particular read was all about defensive stances and how to improve accuracy with spellcasting; the information was good but she could have done without a lot of the anti-muggle and muggleborn phrasing and derogatory remarks.

What else could you expect from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black family library? Honestly she was surprised she could even open the book without being cursed, rended limb from limb or even something _more _sinister than that; those purebloods were imaginative folk.

Just as she slipped a nail under the next page and read the last line, someone came into the library and disturbed the quiet.

"Hey, doll," Sirius sauntered in, giving her a casual look as he made his way into the small collection of stacks without preamble.

Sirius had not given her any trouble.

None at all.

She'd sneaked back to her and Ginny's room the night before, quiet as a mouse in the hall, and Fred had vacated so that Hermione could fall into bed. She had been boneless, completely boneless, and Ginny had merely raised her eyebrows at the bushy-haired witch before cleaning up the stack of singed cards on her bed.

As expected, she had slept like a log, utterly oblivious to the rest of the house, the rest of the block, the rest of the _city_, and had woken feeling refreshed. It was the middle of winter, so there were hardly any birds out to serenade her at the time, but the way the new snow had reflected the morning light around and thrown colourful fractal patterns over the dreary Black Estate was sublime. Everything about the day had been lovely, even though it had been nothing spectacular, and she had George to thank for that.

The relief she had gained had been incalculable and her smile back to Sirius was easy.

"Hello again," Hermione responded, sufficiently assured that he would not bring catching her with George up considering he had been in and out of the library at regular intervals all day.

"How are you finding my great-grandfather's edits to that book?" Sirius' voice was muffled behind one or two sets of bookcases and Hermione shifted in her seat, setting the book down carefully and stretching out the soreness in her back.

"Remarkably tame," Hermione replied sarcastically. "It's as if he didn't believe muggleborns should own wands, if you can believe it."

"Well, I never," Sirius' head popped out to give her a startled look. "He hid it so well, I'm sure I _never _saw a hint of that sentiment even in his eyes."

"I'm sure," Hermione commented with a grin. "Are you onto something?"

"I'm _not_ sure," Sirius responded, disappearing again, his dark hair swinging back out of her line of sight.

"Is there any way I can help?" Hermione offered tentatively. Sirius had been in and out and rummaging for books all day and he didn't seem to be finding what he was looking for.

"Have you seen - oomph - ouch, _bugger_ \- that ludicrously heavy book on magical beasts - "_detestable ways under the soles of our boots, controlled with a firm hand"_ \- that one?"

"If you mean the red one," Hermione voiced, "it's on the far wall."

"Thanks, love." Hermione could hear him walking through the shelves and guessed the shuffling a moment later to be him pulling that god-awful monstrosity from the bottom shelf at the back. "And there's a purple one on..." his voice was muffled and Hermione ran through the books she knew to be purple, pulling up nothing.

"Ah, yes..." he continued to mutter to himself, Hermione only catching the hiss of the 's's. She had never seen him completely overtaken by a project, and he would not let her help. Perhaps it was something to do with the Order. Considering he wasn't allowed to leave Grimmauld Place, it has highly likely that he had been assigned some sort of research. Add to that that they had at their disposal his family's collection of books, many of which were one of a kind or one of very few in the world, it was beneficial to have someone around who would not accidentally be cursed if they touched the tomes. You never knew what to expect in old collections such as the one that surrounded them.

Sirius continued to shuffle around quietly, the gentle thud of him dropping another book to the pile denting sporadically into the lull of the room.

The day had been fantastic. She had been clear-headed upon waking and enjoyed a whole day full of thoughts that did not drift to George every two and a half seconds, and the freshness was invigorating. Or, it had been until she found her mind drifting there of its own accord, although less frequently than she had been dealing with as of late. Hermione could tell that it was her, as in _herself_ and not the spell, because the haze of the previous week had disappeared. It was not a slip that happened suddenly and jarringly, like missing the last step on the staircase, one that was immediately evident, one that she could correct from by overcompensating with focus. It was more of an amble, a detour, and it was one of familiarity and of warmth and of curiosity.

To make matters worse, he had piqued her interest by being completely absent from under her feet in every sense of the word.

Hermione imagined George was making the most of his mental clarity and toiling over something with Fred in their room, but his absence had been noted. Hermione had seen a comment freeze on the tip of Sirius tongue the third time he had run into her in the library alone and not had George attached to her at the hip. The thought had almost tumbled out, but he had caught it at the last second and replaced it with "Seen a bottle of firewhiskey lying around? I could've sworn I left one in here last night", to which she had given him a dark look over the top of her chosen tome.

A stack of books came floating evenly out from behind one of the bookcases across the room followed closely by Sirius, his boots muted in the intricately woven carpet. He gave Hermione a loose two-fingered salute as he made his way with the stack to the door.

"Oomph!"

Hermione's ears perked up a moment after Sirius had disappeared and she shook her head. He must have levitated the books right into someone out in the hall.

"Sorry Moony," he chirruped.

"What're you up to?" Remus asked with a tone of reluctant interest. "_Contagious Diseases and Wizard-Transferable Infections, Volume Three: Werewolves_?"

"I was curious," Sirius shrugged off, and Hermione knew instantly that this was not something for the Order, but for his own purposes. What could he have wanted to know about werewolves that he didn't already know from growing up with Remus? And if there was something his actually didn't know, why would he not ask his best friend before researching, something Hermione would certainly not consider his forte?

"About what?" the werewolf questioned with a humorous lilt, one that suggested curious eyes, a mouth quirked to the side, and perhaps a slightly raised eyebrow, the one through which a scar ran. They stood just out of sight around the doorjamb and Hermione remained still.

"Well, since you won't explain it to me -" Sirius started, clearly needling Remus who jumped in quickly.

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius, drop it," he nearly snapped, the teasing, tentative playfulness gone. "We've been over this. It doesn't matter what the truth of it is, it's not going to happen."

"Well, I don't believe it would be any danger, Remus, and I think you're being -"

"Responsible?" Remus suggested cuttingly.

"Don't get shirty with me, you idiot. You know how she feels and I'm just trying to look out for her," Sirius threw back and Hermione started to feel the prickle of uncomfortableness on the back of her neck. This sounded like one of those things you should not overhear between lifelong friends. "And something's changed. I can feel it."

"I'm telling you, it's not _me_ Padfoot, I swear it. I haven't so much as _touched_ her, not even in passing. I refuse," Remus hissed.

"Well, you shouldn't refuse, for Merlin's sake, she's your bloody mate!" Sirius bit out, not any more quietly. Hermione blinked slowly, her lips falling open in realization. Remus had a _mate_?

"She's your baby cousin!" Remus protested. Hermione's mouth dropped open completely. Tonks was Remus' mate? As in... _mate_ mate? That hardly happened; werewolves hardly ever found the one mate they were destined for and it was a great honour and relief, from what she had managed to find on the subject, though many made do without having them in their lives.

"And you're my best friend!" Sirius ground back, a vague thud indicating the side of a fist slamming solidly into a book or a wall nearby. "You _both_ deserve to be happy, and as it is, _the both of you_ are miserable. Where's the sense in that Moony, my most logical and clear-thinking friend?"

"We have a fundamental misunderstanding, then, about what will ultimately make her happy." A tired edge seeped into Remus' words but Sirius hardly missed a beat.

"No, you're just a bloody ponce is all."

Hermione was all for accumulating knowledge but accidentally eavesdropping on Sirius and Remus in the midst of a squabble seemed wrong. Luckily for her, they shuffled away, still hissing and Hermione let a long breath go. Sirius knew she was in the library just steps away out of sight.

Well, finding your mate was a _big deal_, and it didn't sound like Remus was particularly accepting of who his had turned out to be.

She wouldn't say anything, of course. That was not her secret to tell. And Merlin knew she had enough of her own secrets to keep herself busy.

* * *

That night was a fairly quiet affair.

Mrs. Weasley had been to the hospital again and assured everyone that Arthur was doing just fine, and that they would get to visit him as a group on Christmas Day, just three short days away. It was a Sunday evening, and she had prepared a pot roast which had proved to be a good choice considering the number of Order members who turned up largely unannounced.

Hermione's eye was drawn inexplicably to the void between Remus and Tonks. Now that she had overheard that conversation, it was evident that they were entertaining completely opposing views of the situation they found themselves in. Her heart ached for them; conflict such as that was no walk in the park.

She knew without asking that Remus' argument for keeping them apart would that he was too old for the young witch, too judged by society to allow her association with him to drag her reputation down. Tonks was young and vibrant and full of life and he was an old, tired werewolf who had nothing to offer. She deserved more.

Which was complete poppycock.

Yes he was older, but he was hardly _old_. Yes his affliction was looked down upon, but it wasn't anything new and Hermione was sure Tonks hardly cared about that sort of thing.

Wasn't happiness all that mattered?

The two people she had her attentions fixed on were not happy.

Remus was doing his damndest to keep his back to her, and not give her any chance to catch his eyes whatsoever as she picked a spot as close to him as she could get. He remained twisted in his seat even as Tonks struck up a conversation with Ginny, throwing glances at his shoulders and back at regular intervals. Sirius was refusing to occupy Remus and so he had moved onto trying to keep himself looking busy by speaking with Kingsley, whose face betrayed his amusement with the situation.

"- Are you even listening?" Ron's voice permeated into her inner sanctum and she snapped her head around.

"Sorry, what?" she blurted automatically, cheeks colouring under his intent look as he caught her out while she was inattentive.

"I was just saying that…" Hermione tried her hardest to concentrate on what Ron was saying but her eyes were pulled to the kitchen steps, the hesitant pressure on her chest the easily recognizable indicator that George was near. It was a fact she knew even before his broad shoulders appeared in the doorway a moment later. For the first time that day she set eyes on him and he was staring directly at her; intense, pupils dilating, clear even from a distance. An internal spark flared back into life with a roar and Hermione both revelled in it and tried to half-heartedly smother it, neither making heads nor tails of this new development. She had… He had… _They_ had… Just last night. Weren't things supposed to be easy for a few days? Wasn't she allowed a break from the monotony that had become the tug, the pull, the mystifying traction they seemed to entertain more hours than not?

"Nevermind," Ron grumbled, ruffling his ginger hair dejectedly. Having been thoroughly slighted, Ron turned and engaged Bill in a conversation to distract himself and Fred and George settled across the long table from her.

"Sorry…" Hermione tried to console her friend, but failed, the word petering out until it died altogether too quickly on her tongue.

_Someone was going to notice their odd staring._

Neither seemed to be able to tear their eyes from the other, and Fred was doing a fantastic job of creating a diversion, giving them a spare few moments to find their footing with the spell and figure out some way to circumvent these symptoms, to find some method of holding them at bay until they were not under the scrutiny of _actual_ spies.

Someone from the other end of the table sputtered in a forceful coughing fit, loud and biting, cutting through the idle chatter and gentle murmur of the crowd settling in for supper. The moment passed as if she had been released from a trance, and Hermione flicked her eyes from George's unwavering grey-blue ones down to see who required the Heimlich manoeuvre, landing directly on Sirius' face. Sirius had sprayed a large gulp of butterbeer out of his mouth and Remus was thumping him on the back solidly as he continued to cough and draw ragged breaths. He wasn't red or blotchy from choking and his eyes weren't watering.

Hermione immediately narrowed her eyes. Sirius winked at her before going back to being doted upon by Molly, assuring her loudly that he was perfectly fine but he would most definitely require a new bottle of the amber-gold liquid.

Anxiousness pooled in Hermione's limbs.

If Sirius could see their tells… It was only a matter of time before someone noticed something, some small detail, and exposed everything they had been trying to keep under wraps.

A ticking time bomb of veritable blackmail.

She focused back on George as he turned back as well and she saw his lip twitch minutely. A flush started under the collar of her cool shirt and a moment later she could not only see but feel his eyes trace its path up over her collarbone and onto the slope of her neck.

Where had he been all day? And what gave him the right to slink back in and create roiling, rolling flares of heat in her abdomen?

And oh, yes and there it was –

The empty feeling crept back in slowly, making Hermione shift in her seat unconsciously. How did one feeling become so all-encompassing? How did it have this much power to derail her thoughts and hold her body hostage?

Fred's eyes widened as he watched the exchange between Hermione and his twin with bewilderment, but she ignored him and tried to do the same to George.

People around them seemed to have not spotted the quiet moment in the middle of the table and Hermione threw herself into the task of filling her bowl with stew and obtaining a glass of something liquid, anything really, she didn't even know because it was such an effort to concentrate.

_Concentrate_.

"Can someone pass the rolls down this end?" Kingsley called from near Sirius and Remus and Hermione cast her eyes around for the bread basket.

"Here they are!" Tonks offered it up, promptly catching the edge on Bill's glass and dumping the flaky rolls out onto the table top, the butterbeer from the upturned drink quickly seeping into the tablecloth. "Whoops, sorry!"

"Here," George reached over and helped pile everything back into its container before holding it out for Hermione to continue passing down the bench to the other end.

She could not help it.

It was an automatic response.

He offered.

She took.

It started something in motion; it was an invitation that she could not decline, by nature. So simple but so imperative.

Their fingers brushed.

And they came into celestial co-orbit.

That's exactly what this was.

It was gravitational pull between two objects, irrefutable enough to be a Law - it was inescapable magnetism – it was gazing wide-eyed directly at the sun – it was the inevitability of crushing collision – it was terminal velocity – it was –

Fred's mouth dropped open for a moment in disbelief before he snapped back into action and knocked the basket from between them, creating yet another distraction.

"Terribly sorry!" he shouted, eyes wide and focused on Hermione for a brief second before he began to gather up the dinner rolls that had gone flying for the second time. "I'm a terrible klutz, my sincerest apologies – here -" Fred thrust the basket down the table, Ginny giving him a confused look, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Ginny already knew something was deeply amiss.

Merlin give her strength to get through this meal without -

The youngest redhead fixed Hermione with a look, rooting her to her seat and stilling the fidgetting Hermione had been plagued with from the moment George had entered the kitchen.

_She knew_.

Oh -

* * *

She was bloody mesmerizing.

How was it that Hermione Granger had suddenly become all he could fucking see? Even stranger, all he could feel? He scanned her face, searching for any sign of - anything - and rubbed his palms together. The distinct and vivid memory of sinking two fingers into her - right up to the knuckle - was fresh in his mind, as was the feeling of her shudder under his touch. Warmth and honey and heat and squeezing and shaking -

The awareness that he had been able to feel for weeks and months - the one that allowed him to feel her approaching from around a corner before he even heard her voice - was taking on another peculiar twist.

His body now knew where she was in relation to him - most of the time.

And that was distracting.

For example he knew when she moved from her room to the library that morning and spent a good four or five minutes forcing himself to stay seated on his bed and leave her alone.

They had planning to do.

These daydream charms weren't going to work themselves out.

The most pressing need, the one they both seemed to feel at every turn, was lulled into a content state of being, likely from their activities over the last two days, and so George found mentally concentrating rather easy. The tug between them, though, was as firm and insistent as ever.

George was getting to the point where he was fucking certain this longing would never go away. The draw. The pull. The tug. The _craving_.

Yeah, she was a craving.

He craved her so bad sometimes that his mouth would water painfully when he got a whiff of her subtle perfume.

And when he rounded the hall into the kitchen for dinner, she was sitting there so calmly, like she wasn't lighting his blood like petrol flaring to life and ripping through his veins.

"Nevermind," Ron grumbled at her side, his look dark and irritated. He ruffled his hair messily and turned around to talk to Bill instead and George felt a grin pull at his lips as he settled across from her on an empty bit of bench.

"Sorry..." Hermione tried to apologize to his brother, her eyes still locked on his.

A wracking cough broke out at the other end of the table and they broke the stare between them to look. Sirius was being thumped hard on the back by Remus but upon further inspection, it was not quite genuine enough to pass as real. Hermione and sirius made eye contact and Sirius gave her a wink, confirming George's suspicions.

The elder wizard must have seen the tension between them and caused a much-needed distraction.

George's lip twitched again.

Good ol' Sirius.

George's eyes were sucked into the tiny dip where Hermione's collarbone winged out and disappeared under the material of her shirt, where a lovely bloom of colour had started to seep into the skin like spilled ink.

Hermione glared before turning away, the effort it took her evident in the strain of her neck -

Fred elbowed him subtly, the same way they had done so many times before when one of them was about to get caught red-handed and George straightened before reaching for the pumpkin juice nonchalantly.

_Concentrate._

"Can someone pass the rolls down this end?" Kingsley called from near Sirius and Remus, and George looked around for the bread.

"Here they are!" Tonks offered it up. She bumped Bill's glass with the basket in her hands in her haste to pass them on, and the rolls went flying. "Whoops, sorry!" she laughed, reaching to pick them up from other people's plates.

"Here," George reached for the ones nearest him and motioned for the basket, depositing them back inside as she handed it over. Without thinking, George held it out to Hermione.

Slow motion.

She couldn't have refused it if she had tried.

She accepted.

Their fingers touched.

Shocks.

Everything came, simultaneously, into sharp detail and fell out of focus.

It was sharp edges of rain on a window pane and blurry landscape beyond - it was dust motes in the sunshine - it was mud splashing upon forceful landing - it was bruised and split knuckles -

Fred's arm came into view, heading straight for the basket held between him and Hermione and George started in his seat.

"Terribly sorry!" his twin shouted as rolls rained down on them once more, effectively attracting any attention that had landed on the absorbed pair oto himself in the process. "I'm a terrible klutz, my sincerest apologies – here -" Fred thrust the basket down the table, and Ginny gave him a confused look, her eyebrows furrowed tightly in concentration.

Uh oh.

George knew that look.

He watched as Ginny quirked her head and then raised her eyes to Hermione's. The brown-haired witch froze in her seat for the first time since George had seen her sitting at the table.

_She knew_.

Oh -

* * *

**A/N: HELLO.  
**

**There's a lot of new people here, like a LOT let me tell you. Welcome to whatever it is we have going on here. Nice to have you.**

**A big thank you to Shayalonnie who sent people this way for some good Hermione/George. **

**I have been trying to update all week but it's final project time and it becomes even harder to write in the last three weeks of the quarter, so my apologies. I've got two more weeks to go, and I'll try and have a few updates closer together once my break starts.**

**Leave a review!**

**Cheers xo**

**P.S. - if you're a little confused about Sirius' research, don't worry. You didn't miss anything.**


	21. Chapter 21

"Ginny, it's not -" Hermione tried to intervene as the short ginger female backed George up into a corner, her eyes menacing, cutting, and her short stature seemingly irrelevant. He imagined Fred was laughing because of the hilarity of the contrast between them, Ginny backing him up by stalking closer to him.

Ginny Weasley was short, small, and deceptively innocent looking with freckles to match the rest of her siblings. In reality, though, George knew. He knew just how far her wrath stretched. He knew because he had been one of a handful to show her how to make sure no one got away with any funny business where she was concerned.

Unfortunately for him, her attentions were now directed at him. Narrowed and focused and concentrated _on him_.

"What have you done?" Ginny asked calmly, ignoring Hermione's pleas to stop and listen to her, for just a moment.

George's back was hard against the tapestry behind him and Ginny was leaning in close, her fingers splayed on her hips tightly as she angled her face at him expectantly.

Glancing over the crown of her head easily, George saw Hermione wringing her hands tightly and shuffling her feet, having given up on trying to pry Ginny from the task of interrogating her brother. Fred, meanwhile, had shut the bedroom door behind the group and was rolling his spine back down onto one of the beds, extending his arms up to cradle the back of his head and stretching his legs out leisurely. A chuckle was easy on his twin's lips and George fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Are you two _together_ now? Is that was this is? Because if you ask me, it looked like a _lot_ more than just -" Ginny continued, shaking her mane of hair in his direction.

"It is," George voiced finally, with a great sigh. Ginny retracted a few inches and regarded him shrewdly.

"So you're... what? _Dating?_" Ginny asked haphazardly, a curious tilt to her brow that George was _fortunate_ to see so close up.

Silence filled the room again and no one moved.

"What?" she stepped back and cast a glance between him and Hermione, stopping to observe her brown-haired friend fix her eyes to George's in silent communication. "_What is it?_"

Hermione was nervous; her skin was pale and she was biting her bottom lip with a sharpness that indicated it was not idle boredom with which she was fidgeting. Her eyes were wide - scared even, a little bit - a little bit scared, and George fought the urge to reach out to her, to lift his arm the precise amount he knew she would need to snake under and wedge herself in at his side.

She was waiting for him to make some sort of decision.

Did they tell Ginny and finally have an ally, _hopefully_, who would help if any situations arose over the remainder of the hols and for when they returned to Hogwarts? An ally who was not Lee?

"It's... It's complicated, Gin," George finally exhaled, dragging the words out with his hot breath and his hands pulling the sides of his face down in consternation.

"Well, you'd better get talking then, because mum'll wonder soon why we've all disappeared without eating dessert," Ginny commanded as she stepped back even farther and settled on the edge of the bed nearest her.

Fred snorted and George threw him a serious look, which he ignored and proceeded to play with the tassels on the edge of a nearby blanket.

"Well, it's..." George tried to find the words, Hermione and him both remaining standing as Fred and Ginny looked on quietly.

"Look, you aren't _pregnant_, right, so - _wait, you aren't, are you, because mum'll lose her bloody -_" Ginny took off like a fizzing whizzbang and Hermione started. _What was it with people jumping to the notion of -_

"No! No, no, no, I'm not - god, we haven't - I mean - " Hermione stumbled over her words, and George watched as a ferocious flush swept over every inch of visible skin at the implication that they'd -

_Slick heat enveloping his fingers, crooking them just so, listening to Hermione babble incoherently as he swirled his thumb, the scent of her permeating his senses, the violent shake of her limbs when he had finally driven her over the edge - what would it feel like to get his -_

"Oh," Ginny blinked up at them. "Well, it's just that you came back to the room last night all _relaxed_, like abnormal levels of not giving a rat's arse about anything, you know, literally, and so I thought maybe - because when _I'm_ like that -"

"Merlin, Ginny, we don't want to hear about that," Fred interrupted with a sigh. "Look, it was an accident. George cast a spell that didn't do what it was supposed to do and we don't really know what went wrong but now they - well, they have to be near each other or... bad things start happening to them."

Ginny stared at Fred for a moment, the crease between her brows getting deeper and deeper until she looked back up at George and then over to Hermione.

"What does he mean, you cast a _spell_?" she asked, quiet.

"He - I - Well, you remember at the beginning of the year, when I was particularly... _adamant _about them not testing their own products on students - well, I still don't want that but the point _is_ -" Hermione stumbled through her words and George felt the tension in the room build.

"The point is I made a terrible decision," George interrupted hastily, "and cast a spell on Hermione to cap her anger so that she would stop nagging us about it every day - except it didn't do what it was supposed to do." George grimaced and Ginny jumped up, temper flaring.

"_How _could you think that was a good idea?" she demanded, and Hermione stepped up between them.

"I know," George lamented, giving Ginny his most sincere regretful face but her eyes remained hard.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Ginny, but it can't be helped. We've already - we've already done loads of research and nothing... There's no counter-spell or - or - potion or - anything. We just have to wait for it to wear off," Hermione spilled. "Another few months maybe..."

"_Months_?" Ginny's jaw dropped. "How long has this -" she waved her hand around, not unlike the rest of her siblings did on occasion "- been going on?"

"Since September," George offered, feeling his shoulders slump and his head drop.

The guilt he had dealt with in the days and weeks following Hermione finding out what he had done were retrieved quickly, fresh and raw and settled into old wounds easily, fluidly.

"I can't believe..." Ginny was looking back and forth between them incredulously.

"Well," Hermione shrugged, George seeing the moment she relaxed in her shoulders, the moment Hermione was satisfied that Ginny would not lunge at her older brother in a vicious show of solidarity.

"Does anyone else know?" Ginny whispered as she sunk back into the bed and raised a hand, fingertips brushing against her forehead.

"Well, Sirius," Hermione started with a nervous laugh.

"Sirius caught us in the pantry," George chuckled, his insides beginning to warm again.

"Caught you in the... Wait, what do you mean by 'or else bad things start happening to them'?" Ginny snapped her gaze to Fred, who had supplied that particular information in the first place and George sighed.

"We..." he started. "We have to touch?" he shrugged.

Hermione looked over at him, her lips quivering with suppressed laughter. She quickly schooled her features but her eyes betrayed just how humorous she found something in his explanation.

George watched as the information took root in Ginny's brain and she started giggling. And then the giggle morphed through a chuckle, to a laugh, to an outright fit.

"_I'm sorry_," she gasped between hysterics. "I'm sorry, it's not funny, it's just so bloody typical - couldn't be a minor mix up, _no_, you had to go and - Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry - my _prat_ brothers - I just can't stop -"

Ginny took a few minutes to calm down, but when she did, she had more questions.

"If that's the case, why haven't you just said you're dating and have done with it? Wouldn't that be easier once you realized what was happening?"

"Well -" Hermione started.

"Erm -" George added.

"That about sums it up," Fred quipped. "I'm sure I suggested this at some point but neither of them was willing to -"

"Oi!" George raised a finger.

"Oi yourself," Fred shook his head.

"What is _wrong_ with you two?" Ginny asked, only half-jokingly.

"With _me_?" Hermione gasped, taken aback.

"Yes, _you_!" Ginny laughed. "Godric, you need to find a way to cope better! You've both been looking like you're on your deathbed or plagued with insomnia, and snapping at people for no reason, completely mental the pair of you - dating and decking Ravenclaws -"

George growled under his breath and Hermione looked up in alarm, a minute shiver running down her spine. He could see it from where he was standing, and the beast in his chest unfurled.

_Mine,_ he wanted to utter. Mine.

"Are they always so _feral_?" Ginny whispered to Fred who snorted indelicately. George couldn't seem to give a damn, rooted to the spot and holding Hermione's gaze just like he had been compelled to do at the kitchen table.

"You get used to it," his twin hissed back. "But this _intensity_ is new."

"Maybe we should..." Ginny began to suggest.

Hermione's eyes were dark and wide, the freckles along her nose and cheeks stark against the paleness of her skin.

"Get some dessert? Yeah," Fred completed the sentence Ginny had started and both stood, shuffling quickly to the door without looking back. The door closed with a snap.

There was a beat of silence.

And then they were lunging at each other, colliding.

"_Now_ look what you've done -" Hermione snapped as he yanked her toward himself, her curves pressing into his edges immediately. George kept tugging, tugging, gathering her close, her hair tickling his jaw, her scent flooding his nose and filling his lungs. It both lit a fire and drowned his other senses completely.

"_Me?_ What about you - you're not _innocent _in all this. You were looking at me at the table as if you wanted to swallow me whole, for Merlin's sake -" George grunted as Hermione rolled her back and pressed closer to him, as close as she could get, closer, always closer -

"Maybe I did," she declared dangerously, and the tone of her voice caused goose bumps to erupt over the skin of his neck and down his spine. Whatever blood hadn't started making its way quickly south took that as a bright flashing neon sign to rush to battle stations and George groaned, feeling the effects immediately.

"_Don't _say things you don't mean, Granger," he growled, anchoring his hand at the base of her skull and twining his fingers in her hair. Using it as leverage, he held her still and placed a bruising kiss to her lips. "It's not nice to tease."

Hermione bit out an answer, but it was caught in their hasty kiss. It was caught between their struggling bodies, it was swirling around the parts they were trying to shove closer without impaling each other with sharp bones and sharper teeth.

"What was that?" George pulled back, waiting for her to repeat herself, the inkling that whatever she had to say would...

"_I said_ 'why are you so sure I didn't mean it?'," she snapped back at him, eyes flashing. George still had his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, soft and curly.

Did she...

_She must know what she was implying._

She was the smartest person he knew, aside from maybe Professor Dumbledore and Remus Lupin.

Hermione remained still, gazing up at him warily as if she was ready to bolt at any second but also deeply uncomfortable with being in that state. George forced his grip on her to loosen so that she could pull away, or leave or...

"Are you _mad_, don't let go," she hissed and seized him, fisting his sweater and pulling him down to her. Hermione was all tongue, dipping and swirling and George's knees shook with a groan.

This girl - Hermione - was possibly suggesting that she would maybe like to use that mouth on his -

"We don't have long - how are we going to -" Hermione was muttering between kisses, stumbling and nudging him back until his calves hit the mattress of one of the beds. "You can just stop me if you don't want me to, then, since you haven't said anything I can't tell if that's good or bad, honestly -"

One of her hands was tugging at the button of his trousers - his _tight_ trousers - and the other was ghosting up under his shirt, fingertips brushing over the sensitive skin and making his muscles jump under her touch.

"It's good," George rasped out, the words catching in his throat on their way out and making him swallow audibly. Hermione was making quick work of things and what felt like just a second later, she was gazing up at him, their noses inches apart, and reaching into his underwear to free him from constraint. Her breathing was shallow, her chest only moving minutely against him and George let out a warbly noise of appreciation when her hand encircled him. Pink bloomed happily on her cheeks as a shiver ran down his spine and he closed his eyes momentarily to savour the vision.

Not being able to refrain himself as she shifted to better touch him, George pushed his fingers up under her shirt to splay over the skin of her hips and lower back, tightening his grip when she did something particularly nice. Her skin was searing, her hold on him singeing at the edges, curling and warping him until he was obeying every silent instruction.

"_Shhhhh_," Hermione whispered conspiratorially and George was dazed. _What? He wasn't making any noise -_

But then she was sinking lower and holding his shirt out of the way with one hand and moment he say her lips part for him he had to look away. He had to look up at the ceiling and pray he didn't come apart the second he felt her mouth, because that would be so rude, wouldn't it, and a bit disappointing really -

"_Holy shit_," his body shook violently and George forced himself not to push the rest of the way into the wet heat enveloping him, not to touch the head of his cock to the back of her throat, not to do anything that she might find offensive, because if she stopped doing whatever _the fuck_ she was doing with her mouth in outrage, he would have to - to avada _himself _because - there was no way he could live in a world that didn't include Hermione Granger on her knees before him anymore - she'd gone and ruined him, that's what she'd done, good job -

His hands had been hovering, unsure of where to land, unsure of where was acceptable to touch, knowing that going anywhere near her head would be like tempting fate, challenging his self-control more than it was already being challenged, tempting his desire to push deeper, always closer -

George raised his arms instead and covered his eyes with one, hoping that shutting out light would somehow dull the sounds of Hermione pulling him into her waiting mouth eagerly, and help keep him from embarrassing himself too early on. It didn't - George was actually convinced it made the sounds more insistent, trickling over his skin and curling into the shell of his ear tantalizingly, beckoningly.

"_Holy fucking _\- Merlin's - saggy left - bloody _hell_, Hermione," he babbled out, and he started when Hermione pulled him from between her lips and didn't take him in again in the next thrum of his heartbeat.

"I said '_shhhhhh_'," she hissed up at him as he looked down. "_Did you want to get caught_?"

Hermione sounded like Hermione, like normal everyday Hermione. Hermione who scolded people who stepped out of line, Hermione who nagged about homework and lectured about study topics, Hermione who went on tirades about house elf rights, Hermione who answered any question posed with ease and efficiently and precise correctness.

But -

She did not _look_ like that Hermione, not sitting back on her heels, not with the ferocious blush and immensely pleased expression, not with her wide eyes turned up at him - his knees shook a little - and her lips gleaming wetly in the light from the old, antique wall sconces.

"No - sorry - carry on, didn't mean to disturb you," George laughed breathlessly and swallowed a groan back when she resumed whatever delicious treatment she deemed necessary. As Hermione closed her mouth around him again, George's limbs grew more shaky and before long he was gasping out vague warnings about falling on her before she could -

Hermione nudged his hips back and he took that as a sign to sit on the bed behind him. She all but wiggled her way in between his legs, pushing his knees apart to make room for herself insistently before sliding her elbows out over his hips and descending on him once more.

Stars were bursting into life and out of existence in his belly, the sudden expansion and contraction, the pressing stifling, niggling feeling that something, _something_, was building, something possibly more than just the obvious, something important, something... inevitable and irresistible and -

He might as well stop resisting then, right, because it was going to happen anyway, regardless of -

George looked down and watched as Hermione pulled away from him again, exposing his flesh centimetre by centimetre -

* * *

Hermione could feel her hair falling out of its loose bun, could feel herself growing more messy, could feel her underwear soaking up the moisture that had rushed southward -

George was shaking and the noises he was making at the back of his throat, smothered and stifled, were making her skin prick and her hair stand on end, brushing painful back and forth as she moved. He sagged back on the mattress, barely holding himself up on his elbows.

He sounded like he was -

Worshipping something, like a chant of some sort -

And he tasted...

Not unpleasant.

And he felt -

Amazing.

Hot and hard and large and so very masculine under her darting tongue, smooth and slick with saliva -

Every once in a while, she would sneak a glance at George's face, slack and pained-looking at the same time - it was a wondrous combination - and wonder, as she swirled her tongue around the head of his erection, how they had managed to get to that point. And how she was not having any reservations about it. And how it was turning her on so much.

Her desire to reach between her own legs and relieve some pressure was maddening but they didn't have time - they couldn't afford to be caught - at least _one_ of them would get some relief -

"_Her - my - knee_ -"

His heavy breathing had stopped and she looked up the length of his body while sucking on his head gently - was he holding his breath? Oh god, had she caught him on her teeth? He looked like he was in _pain _\- oh no, wait that face meant he was _about _to -

All of George's muscles tensed in a wave that seemed to run from his core to his extremities in slow motion, the strangled moan from his mouth huffing out with suddenly deep breaths as Hermione committed herself to taking him as deeply as she comfortably could. His thighs shook under her bent arms and he gasped, ragged and catching, until his heartbeat started to a relieved patter.

Not entirely sure how to deal with the aftermath of her rather insistent venture, Hermione swallowed and, with a glance up at George's unmoving body, wiped the bottom half of her face with the back of her hand. That was... something else entirely.

Hermione's body as thrumming tightly, almost loud enough to actually hear and George lifted his head a fraction of a second later.

"Are you - are you alright? I didn't, uhhh, hurt you?" George's voice came off small after all the heavy heaving of breaths and gritty groans of a minute ago.

"Hurt me?" she questioned, confused, brow furrowing.

"I don't know, did I push to hard or... I don't know. I just want to know that you're not, erm, upset because I..." his hand twitched in what was clearly meant to be a gesture that illustrated his point and her eyes widened.

"Oh - uhh, no, I'm fine, you didn't do anything... I don't, well," Hermione felt her cheeks burn as she made to stand slowly, trying not to touch George as she did so.

"I can't move yet," George dropped his head back down listlessly. "But as soon as I can..."

_As soon as he could move, he'd... what?_

Hermione's skin tightened in anticipation, and the sensation caused her to become increasingly more aware of the clothing she had on that she wanted desperately to rip off.

"You can what?" she whispered, and George's head raised off the mattress once more to look at her curiously.

"Oh, don't tell me you don't want the same thing," he laughed quietly, flexing his limbs and beginning to move and shuffle around more. When he was satisfied with his stretching, he sat up and then pushed himself wobbly to his feet.

"Well, I..." Hermione looked up at him, and the feeling of being dwarfed rushed back into the spaces it had been forced from briefly by womanly pride. Arousal flared sharply and she could see in George's gaze that he already knew he had been right, that he had won.

"You don't mean to say you're _embarrassed_, Granger?" he gave her a cheeky smirk and her bottom lip tucked itself between her lips automatically. "Because if that's what this is," he nodded to her, still in close proximity to him, with a raised brow, "than maybe I just need to remind you who started this, and where my cock was about five minutes ago."

"_George _-" she stuttered, her muscles clenching in pleasure at his word usage.

"Not that I didn't like it, of course," he grinned down at her. "But seriously, are you going to get all embarrassed now? Because I know I enjoyed that - Merlin's fucking arsehole, I enjoyed that, _thank you _\- do you really want to play the game where you see how long you can hold out again?"

He made a good point.

The last time they had been cut short, in the pantry, she'd had to wait a whole day before going to see him again. It had been painful and partly out of her indesire to face the rest of the house when she was sure Sirius would have blabbed their secret out the moment he saw another living person, but that had not been the case.

Still, the memories of the past months, of not being able to sleep, of being cold, of craving any sort of contact to ease her concentration issues, any of the side effects they seemed to experience when they had not touched in too long - floated back to the surface of her mind and she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Come here," George startled her and her eyes popped open again.

He'd righted himself and cinched his pants back on his hips in her brief bout of distraction and took one large steps toward her. a few more inches remained and his waited for her too make up her mind and close the gap between them.

When she did, he wasted no time in cupping her jaw and lowering his lips to hers.

If his goal had been to ply her with his lips to help her forget any nervousness or uncomfortableness she might have been feeling, he succeeded. The moment his tongue swiped along her lower lip she remembered the fierce way they had sprung at each other the moment the door had closed behind Ginny and Fred on their way out. She remembered the way their touch at the dinner table less than an hour ago had felt like coming into orbit around one another, how everything else had seemed insignificant and fallen out of focus, like dandelion fluff floating away on a breeze, idle.

His fingers were back on her skin under her shirt and she didn't even feel the usual fleeting urge to protest when he slid his hands up her torso and pulled it over her head. The throb that she was so familiar with, the one that responded to his proximity and his body heat and his gaze, pulsed achingly. Like he could feel her body's internal reaction - _its keen for him_ \- he maneuvered her around smoothly and placed her down where he had been sitting a moment before.

"Sorry for the bluntness," he laughed quietly, "but like you said, we don't have time to waste."

_Time!_

Someone was going to come looking for them, surely! They would walk in and see -

"George, we don't have time -" she started, her brain clicking back into position, still precariously distracted with the war between logical thought and physical imperative.

"Right, so stop distracting me," he voiced firmly, twisting the button on her jeans loose and pulling at the zipper.

"Oh," she gasped, derailed again, and her hips followed his motions and lifted for him to pull her pants and knickers free with a few jerky tugs. Hermione leaned back on the bed and tipped her head to look at the ceiling.

George just breathed out a chuckle and before she had much time to think about much else, he was kneeling where she had just been on the floor and gently nudging her knees apart to make room for himself.

Jittery nerves made her stomach jump and, as she allowed her legs to fall to either side of him, he didn't say anything. A hesitancy, a feeling of dread, started to building and bubble in the pit of her stomach - _which she had somehow lost along the way, where had it gone?_ -and Hermione started to panic.

His silence must mean -

She looked weird or -

God forbid, she smelled - _tasted_ \- weird -

_Oh, god_ -

She was never going to get over this mortification, she was never going to live it down, she'd never be able to look George in the eye again -

"_Holy fuck_."

George's curse startled her and she jumped, making to snap her knees closed and pull away from him. As she moved, George's hands slithered under her bottom and cupped her flesh tightly before pulling her back towards him and she squealed at the unexpected move.

"Don't even think about leaving," he growled and she shivered, still. His tone froze her racing mind obediently and she let go of the breath she hadn't been aware of holding, gusting out in a hot, humid burst. "Not before I -_ Merlin, Hermione, do you even know how wet you are?_" He pulled her right to the edge of the mattress by her thighs, curling his arms under her knees and wrapping all the way around her limbs. The flesh of her bottom was peeking over the edge of the bed and if he had not been there, clasping her and insisting she remain open for him, she would have tumbled off the mattress.

Hermione focused her energy on not squirming under the gaze she knew he had fixed on her normally quite covered parts, up close and personal, and tried not to jump when his fingers pressed into the dip where her hip met her thigh. George's breath was hot in the tender skin between her legs and when he inhaled, long and slow, she raised a hand to cover her eyes, her knees shaking.

"I don't know what you're so nervous about, love, because you smell fucking delicious," he whispered reverently and she gasped out a nervous giggle. His lips pressed into the skin of her inner thigh and she gasped, the giggle cut short.

George's lips ghosted, barely dragging over her, the tip of his nose indicating his intent. He was hovering, so close, and her legs were still shaking a little in his grasp and on his shoulders. He pulled them farther apart, still barely breathing on her, and splayed his fingers low on her belly.

Hermione's heart was hammering in her chest, a drum beat, a count down until someone would inevitably walk in and catch them - _again _ \- but this time in a much worse situation -

"You know, it's okay, we don't have time -" Hermione felt the words bubble up before she could stop them. They contradicted every urge, every craving, every shout and scream of her body, and even as she said them she was kicking herself.

What if he thought that was really what she wanted? What if he let go of her and handed her her knickers and never brought it up again? Gods, what would she even do if he never -

"Don't rush me," he laughed and her brain spiralled out of control, dizzy and off-kilter, like vertigo but she was lying down and he was holding her steady - she was still spinning like a top, colours blending and smearing and whirling - because he was going to actually do it, she felt him leaning in and -

Her world toppled -

He probed softly with his tongue, gentle and slow -

Hermione's body bowed of the bed and she couldn't breath, _she couldn't breathe_ -

His palms were hot on her pelvis and he was unrelenting, holding her down to keep the spasms under enough control so that he could continue -

She keened, _she could hear herself keening_, could hear herself sounding like she was on the verge of crying -

He was getting closer, teasing, sweeping up and down, lapping her up, _devouring_ her and soon he would find - soon he would find - _soon he would_ -

_Oh, he was quick -_

George's tongue nudged the bundle of nerves at her apex, rigid and calling out to be touched and her hips stuttered in their steady rhythm of rocking against him -

He was pulling her legs as open as they would go and spreading - _spreading her open_ -

_Spreading_ -

_Breaking_ -

He was breaking her down, chipping away at her flimsy and feeble facade - she could feel pieces of her falling away into nothingness, into abyss, into oblivion -

Nothing mattered.

Nothing _else_ mattered.

Just the even stroke of his tongue over and around her clit -

Just the groan he reverberated against her -

Just the feel of him finally -

Finally -

_Finally _-

Making her scream.

* * *

It was fantastically lucky George had cast a silencing charm when he thought Ginny was going to yell and holler at him until her voice went hoarse because -

To say he had been expecting _that_ reaction from Hermione would be false.

He thought she'd get the frozen shocked look that she'd when she'd come around his fingers, with her body seizing tightly and remaining all but locked up until she had come back to the land of the living a minute later.

But no.

With her fingers twisted in the blanket underneath her, head and body tightly drawn, back bowed of the bed, she'd just fallen to pieces under his mouth, quivering and vocalizing under his tongue, shaking and trembling her release.

He remained in place, refusing to jostle her as she blinked and drew shallow shocked breaths into her lungs. Her leg muscles were still fluttering when she raised her head off the bed a fraction of and inch and locked gazes with him.

There was a beat of '_what the bloody hell is this anyway_' before -

Before her face split into the biggest, most dazzlingly relieved smile he had ever seen, and he quirked his lips back at her.

* * *

**A/N:  
**

**1) Sorry for the long wait. But here we are.**

**2) Thank you to everyone who had read and reviewed and sent encouraging words and helped motivate me over my break to get something written.**

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**justcourbeau dot tumblr dot com**

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**Thanks for sticking around!**

_**Now what's going to happen for George and Hermione?**_


	22. Chapter 22

_Mine_.

It was as if things had switched somehow, in some way that was hard to clearly define. The boundaries of their relationship - _relationship? Perhaps only by the technical definition "the way in which two or more people or things are connected" -_ were shifting and it was -

Unnerving.

George never found adapting all that difficult, usually. He and Fred had employed so much adlibbing and on the spot trickery that it usually never fazed him, not one bit. He took whatever the change was and applied his unique set of talents to twisting it further into what might help his own situation.

But this -

This was something else entirely. And even more unsettling is that this was all happening under the noses of his parents, his siblings, his friends and his mentors inside a house too small for the number of people that trod the halls every day. Someone was bound to either witness something or find out or riddle some detail of his attitude toward Hermione out and...

What would they do then?

The thought that maybe keeping this a secret for so long had been a bad idea crossed George's mind and he tugged his shirt over his head in frustration, tossing it into the laundry bin by the door. It hung halfway out, having caught on the lip of the basket, but with a shimmy and a move very much like the seagulls he'd seen every time they made a trip to the coast or to Shell Cottage as a child, the bin gulped his discarded clothing down and sighed.

The heart of the matter, of the change - what had _always_ been the main obstacle - was the pull between Hermione and him.

But things were changing, he could feel it on his skin, pumping in his blood and settling in his marrow. Before, it had been isolating, the effects something to dread when they hadn't touched in too long, cold and disparate and alienating. Even at its most desperate it had been flurry of movement, one that melted the snow into puddles, the sound of dripping loud and tinny, freezing after into sheets of ice, after they had finished and done and it would stay that way until they reached a breaking point again. A breaking point that would build over weeks, and then days. But now it was -

The sharp twang of a sting under tension, the winding, tangling, _tightening_ of something that was wrapped around them and cinching them closer, something warm to the touch, something a deep breath could not stop. It was a roiling boil, a lightning strike, the spark of a firework.

And it was relentless.

George was beginning to think that even if they had not been in close quarters, like Grimmauld Place and the Gryffindor Tower, the effects of the spell would have been just the same.

Time had progressed them from heated angry stares and biding time, to frantically trying to find the perfect balance of time that gave them as much contact as possible without alerting anyone to any odd happenings.

The Sunday night that Ginny had put two and two together and insisted on an explanation had been two days ago; Monday had given them a brief moment at the breakfast table when George had fetched himself more porridge and Hermione had dallied with her toast and tea, everyone else vacating with tasks impressed upon them. George was certain it had been about thirty seconds of grappling and grasping and trying desperately to silence their grunts of frustration until Remus had come back down the hall in search of more tea to cart off to the library.

The werewolf had barely flicked his eyes over the pair of them, both staring diligently at their food and sipping tea in a manner that might have come off a bit too stiff to be convincing. George saw the muscles in Lupin's jaw flex and his nostrils flare for a moment before he busied himself with the milk and honey and resolutely looked anywhere but the pair of them sitting at the table silently.

George had tossed and turned all night and was sure that Hermione was having the same problem on the floor below, but he didn't dare chance anything. They had to at least _try_ to make it more than 24 hours, didn't they?

This was never going to work.

George groaned and threw his towel over his shoulder before heading out into the hall for the bathroom for a shower before bed. At this point, whatever would help him nod off was a good thing.

* * *

Hermione couldn't look at George over the next days without flushing, the immediate throb of desire pulsing through her at the memory of his lips and tongue working over her, _playing her_, like she was some instrument he had begun mastering from the moment of his birth.

Like an expert, the brush of his fingers was like the strum of taut strings, both harmonious and horribly out of tune. There was a constant vibrating between them -

_Mine_.

\- And Hermione rather likened it to tuning forks warbling back and forth, trying to harmonize and resonate at the same frequency. Resonance was typically defined as the quality of a sound that stays loud, clear, and deep for a long time - fitting for what she was applying the idea to - and a sound or vibration produced in one object that is caused by the sound or vibrations produced in another. A give and take.

It sounded awfully poignant, and it sounded a lot like her and George were somehow trying to find the point at which they would reach equilibrium.

It was a seesaw, really.

A frustrating seesaw of hormones and magic and external versus internal forces and -

"Merry Christmas, Hermione!" Ginny's sleep-raspy voice piped up, startling her out of her thoughts in a manner so jarring she jumped. "Whoops, sorry," the redhead snuffled quietly when she saw the look on Hermione's face.

Ginny had been surprisingly quiet after finding out about her and George a few days ago, despite how on edge Hermione had been when the two had reunited later that night. Ginny hadn't asked a single thing, and had just curled up in bed as usual, allowing Hermione headspace to properly process the new developments.

"Merry Christmas, Gin." Hermione stretched her arms above her head and groaned, the four poster barely wiggling when she sat up to survey the end of her bed and the stack of presents that had magically appeared. Sparkling silver paper and red paper with gold stars, striped paper, it all glimmered back at her and she felt her heart jump into her throat with excitement. A sharply crisp copy of _New Theory of Numerology_ from Harry, another box of Fever Fudge from George - _(and Fred!) _signed hastily under George's name - a heavy glass bottle of perfume from Ron, a book of pressed flowers grown in the garden at the Burrow from Ginny, the typical Weasley parents gift of a cosy sweater and baked goods, and a card from her parents.

'_We miss you heaps! Wish you were here, but we understand your drive to do well, darling, and that is something we could never be angry at you for. _

_Have a lovely holiday, and don't forget to take at least one teensy tiny break!_

_Love Mum and Dad'_

A few notes were tucked into the card as well, and Hermione's heart ached. She had procrastinated too long before telling them that she would not being going on their skiing trip, and had told them quite firmly not to get her anything for Christmas to make up for her not going. _Technically_, her father would say, _we didn't get you anything._

The girls stumbled to their feet and embraced tightly, giggling elatedly about it being Christmas Day before Ginny headed to the bathroom and Hermione grabbing the gift she had wrapped the night before for Kreacher. Once she was dressed and had her hair tied back, Hermione left the bedroom and ran into the boys on the stairs.

"Merry Christmas, Granger," Fred was bounding down the stairs, sniffing at the air, tempting any errant breakfast smells toward him, while George, Harry and Ron followed quickly after.

"Merry Christmas," they chorused around, and Hermione resisted the urge to gaze up at George, who was slipping around the group in order to creep closer to her.

"Thanks for the book, Harry!" Hermione embraced the dark-haired boy. "I've been wanting that _New Theory of Numerology_ for ages! And that perfume is really unusual, Ron," Hermione thanked them.

There was a low, nearly imperceptible growl from back to her right but thankfully no one seemed to have heard and Ron spoke a half-second later. Hermione focused her attention on him and tried desperately to ignore both the tingling feeling in her limbs, and the urge to step backward into George's arms. Silently, she prayed that he would not notice the shiver that trickled down her spine, the territorial nature of the noise bringing to mind the hard looks they had been giving each other for months.

_Mine_.

"No problem," he commented. "Who's that for anyway?" Ron added, tipping his head and indicating the present she was holding to her chest loosely.

"Kreacher," she chirruped.

"It had better not be clothes!" Ron stated, giving her a wary look and flicking his eyes back to the package, trying to judge what it might be. "You know what Sirius said, Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes," Hermione responded exasperatedly and the boys gave her simultaneous unconvinced looks, "although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt, I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."

Hermione's efforts to help house elves had taken a less central role with it being her fifth year and her needing to dedicate more time to revising and studying, but it was still there nonetheless. No matter what the other occupants - and particularly Sirius - said about the little elf, Hermione could not find it in her heart to be anything but kind to him. Considering the family he had lived with up until their eventual demise, she could hardly fault Kreacher for his attitudes, and chose to try and see past the hateful words he spewed at her.

"What bedroom?" Harry gave her a confused look with his whisper as they all passed quietly by Mrs. Black's portrait on their way to the kitchen.

"Well, Sirius says it's not do much a bedroom, more of kind of - _den_. Apparently he sleeps under the boiler in that cupboard off the kitchen," Hermione responded as all four boys descended the steps behind her.

Mrs. Weasley wished them a Merry Christmas with watery eyes and when Hermione shot a questioning look to Ron, he just shook his head and motioned for her not to ask.

"So this is Kreacher's bedroom?" he cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, feeling nervousness roll around her midsection. What if the elf didn't like it? What if he started screaming at her again? "Er... I think we'd better knock..."

Ron reached forward and rapped the door with his knuckles, the sound echoing over the flagstone floors and grating against her eardrums. There was no noise from within.

"He must be sneaking around upstairs," he shrugged, and pulled open the door. "_Urgh_."

A large copper boiler took up most of the space in the closet but beneath it was crammed a wad of blankets and rags, all formed into a nest with a divot in the middle where she supposed Kreacher probably slept. Bile rose in her throat at the stench and her heart clenched in sympathy for the little elf. Tarnish silver frames were set lovingly in and along one cramped corner, and the haunting face of Bellatrix Lestrange observed all five of their peering faces from her position of importance at the forefront. Hermione wrinkled her nose and bit the inside of her lip unsurely.

"I'll just leave his present here," she decided, laying down the gift and ushering the heads closest to her out of the closet so that she could pull the door shut behind them. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine..."

"Come to think of it," Sirius spoke abruptly from behind the group and Hermione jumped. "Has anyone seen Kreacher lately?"

They all shuffled down the table and Hermione felt a familiar jolt as George's fingers brushed the back of her forearm and his breath ghosted over the shell of her ear as he stood over her.

"I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," Harry answered. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

"Yeah..." said Sirius, his brows knitting together. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too... He must be hiding upstairs somewhere..."

* * *

George and Hermione were not awarded even a moment of time together all day before the Weasleys, her and Harry were ushered into the car Mundungus had scrounged up to take them, Lupin and Mad-Eye to St. Mungo's to see Mr. Weasley. Magically enlarged, it provided just enough room from them all. After Mrs. Weasley hesitantly climbed into the backseat between Fred and Bill, they glided away from the curb and into the traffic of London headed for the hospital.

Hermione had seem an opening for an opportunity, and took it. When they were getting set up for the ride, Hermione had dropped her mittens on purpose, delaying her by a few seconds and allowing her to squeeze in next to George and Lupin in the first row instead of being squished in the next row with Ron, Harry and Ginny.

She couldn't decide it she was more thankful or frustrated for the winter layers separating their thighs as she buckled in next to him, though with Remus on her other side it was probably a saving grace. Without skin to skin contact, Hermione had some semblance of control, regardless of the prickling and tingling sensations and the dizzy feeling making her head swim. Her fingers itched and Hermione shifted in her seat, her heartbeat thrumming under her skin and around her nerves insistently as the back of George's knuckles rested against her leg innocently.

Refusing to look over at him and give any indication of what was pulsing between them in the small space, Hermione shifted again and felt the burn of a flush hot on her chest under her scarf.

"Are you well, Hermione?" Remus' voice was closer than expected and Hermione startled before looking over at him. His hands were loosely linked together in his lap as he sat comfortable with his knees slightly parted and his gaze was easy as his eyes flickered over her features. The full moon had just passed in the last week, and as such, Remus was at his most relaxed.

"Yes, sorry, just a bit warm," she explained, not really lying at all. The heat was stifling and she felt George snicker beside her but didn't dare to look while under such close scrutiny. Concentrating on her hands, Hermione pulled her coat free of the seatbelt and prayed that her body wouldn't do anything stupid as she did so, like perhaps take the movement as permission to lean over and fix her lips to George's. Because at that moment, that was the primary urge she was fighting.

Two days had passed since -

Hermione shifted around and managed to work her coat off, the cool air a relief on her neck and chest, even through her cardigan. Wishing desperately that she had worn just jeans and not two layers of tights and skirt for the trip, she settled the bundle of wool on her lap and turned to look out the window, angling away from Remus.

George looked like he was trying not to catch her eye while _hoping _he would catch her eye and Hermione forced her lips to stay in a straight line, praying they did not betray her and her emotions. If anyone spotted the blush rolling across her skin ferociously or the quiver in her lips they would start looking for answers, answers that sat _right _beside her.

If Hermione had learned anything over the last few months it was that -

Proximity was _dangerous_.

* * *

"Is this wise?"

Hermione felt her insides clench as George's lips inched down her jaw toward the shell of her ear, his ragged breath grating in the most delicious way and sending shivers down her spine. His fingers pressed into her back, pushing her closer against him and he gave a breathy chuckle.

"Since when am I ever wise, Granger?"

"Good point," she groaned back in response. George's hand had chosen that moment to descend and grasp her behind. When his hips pushed forward at the same time and his arousal was obvious against her belly, Hermione gasped and reached up to pull his face more firmly toward hers.

"It's nearly the new year," he breathed a moment later. "So we don't have long before people will come looking for us."

It was New Year's Eve and currently everyone was occupied with celebrations as the clock was counting down to midnight. He was right, they wouldn't have a long time to -

"Better get on with it then," Hermione laughed as George's large frame nudged her back, back, making her bump into the window seat, the bay window open to the dark backyard, a tangle of brambles and scraggly patches of grass and icy bits of leftover snow glowing in the half-light of the moon. George's hands left her backside and grasped her hips, nudging them back so that she was perched on the edge of the cushion with him wedged between her thighs, a delicious friction building between them.

It had been days –

George's arm wrapped under the curve of her waist, hauling her up into him as he arched over her, his lips slanting over hers hotly. Hermione's legs moved of their own volition, raising to wrap around his hips and his hands dropped away from the rest of her to grasp her thighs and push more insistently against her centre, making her keen quietly. In a moment, he tugged her skirt up, pushing the hem up toward her hips and grinding the front of jeans against her, making her eyes roll back in her skull.

"George," she whispered into the quiet of the library, the distant sounds of people in the kitchen lodged in the back of her consciousness, her brain struggling to keep their situation in focus, to keep her wits about her as he –

"_Unnnng_." The noise came from the back of his throat as the pads of his fingers slipped between them and met with the hot, damp fabric of her underwear at the apex of her thighs.

_Closer, always closer._

Thoughts were half-formed and flying wildly around inside her head. Hermione scrambled, her fingers shaking as she reached for his trousers and popped the button. It was hardly a second later that she was tugging him out of his boxers and stroking his hard length, using the heels of her feet to pull him closer to her again.

"Merlin, Hermione," he groaned, rocking his hips into the cradle of hers sharply, his ragged breath harsh and grating in her ears.

"Harder," she hissed back and he acquiesced immediately, pushing against her with more ferocity.

God how she wished for –

"_More_," the word slipped out and Hermione realized that she knew this had been coming, this had been building for _months_, of _course_ they would have to have sex, they'd been skirting the issue for _so long_ –

"What're you -" George mumbled, feeling her reach down between them again. He pulled away a fraction of an inch before dropping his head into the hollow of her throat as she pulled her underwear to the side, allowing them the first skin to skin contact between them. "What are you _doing_?"

"We _both_ want more, George. We might as well -" Hermione started, arching her back and brushing her wetness against him, making him shiver and tremble. She knew the feelings he was experiencing – the rushing, racing feeling of the blood in her veins, the tingling tightening of her skin and the bubbles and heat the rushed up and down her extremities, the burning need to have him closer, _deeper_, the tugging she felt in her very _soul_ –

"'_Might as well'?_" George stopped moving. A beat later he was pulling away from her and tugging his pants up, casting his eyes to the side and refusing to look at her until she had straightened her own clothes. Hermione's stomach dropped and the rushing in her veins froze, weighing her down.

"Yes, might as well. You feel it, don't you?" she asked sharply. "The change -"

"That doesn't mean we '_might as well'_ do anything, Hermione," George snapped back. "I promised I wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't what, George? Wouldn't _spell_ me?" Hermione bit out, rage building under the surface of her skin, quickly taking light and flaring, sending a blush over her collarbones and down her chest.

George's face whipped back to her and she regretted her angry jab immediately, her heart clenching at the sincerity in his eyes.

"I've apologized and tried to find a way to reverse it, Hermione, and unfortunately, there's no way to do that. I'm _trying_ to remember what I did wrong -"

"Try harder!"

Tears were prickling in the corners of her eyes, and Hermione blinked them away, refusing to cry more over George Weasley. The burn of rejection was creeping from the stomach into her throat and she knew without a doubt that she would need to leave the room as fast as possible to keep him from seeing –

She'd promised herself she wouldn't let him hurt her again.

Flashes of George and Angela flicked in front of her eyes, making her blood pressure spike and spots appear behind her eyelids when she blinked.

"We aren't even dating, for cripe's sake!" George through up his hands. "Is that what you want? You already tried dating someone else, and that didn't help. So what do we do now? Because I won't just sleep with you, Hermione, and I won't force you into anything else you don't want to do. That's not right!"

Hermione was taken aback by his words but bounced back fairly quickly.

"But it was okay to cast a spell on me without my consent," she gritted out.

"You _know _I regret that," he whispered back.

"But now that I've come to the conclusion that we should actually _have sex_ \- _all because of that spell, by the way, just a gentle reminder_ \- instead of beating around the bush about it, and _now_ you have reservations!" Hermione felt the words pouring out of her, and tried to reign them in.

"Because you deserve better than a quick shag, Hermione!" George threw back at her, stunning her into silence. His cheeks were pink, making his freckles stand out in a way that normal pale or tanned skin didn't and Hermione realised that she didn't often see him flushed from anything outside what they did together, whether it be screaming at each other or hurriedly groping in linen closets and pantries.

Silence.

Silence in the room, and silence in her mind.

What did she say to that?

Hermione felt the answer creeping up on her, sliding up her spine and wiggling along her cerebellum and spilling out over her cerebrum, sloshing against the inside of her cranium wobbily, like it was trying to find some sort of equilibrium in its new environment.

"_Mine_," Hermione growled, feeling it well up inside her before it came tumbling out.

"What did you say?" George froze in his offensive stance, his feet shoulder width apart, braced for another round of screaming but instead receiving –

"_Mine_," Hermione repeated, feeling the tug between them jerk her a step closer, causing her to stumble a bit over her own two feet. It had never actually managed to make her move before but this was different, this was _something else entirely_.

In two large steps, George was back before her and pulling her into his arms firmly, insistently.

"Do you feel that?" he ground out, his voice sounding almost pained as he gave her a blazing look. "Say it again," he demanded when she remained silent.

"_Mine_," she whispered, so quiet she wasn't even sure she had said anything out loud. George seemed to have heard her though, because he broke the look between them and held her tighter against his chest, _closer_ -

There was a building, a squeezing, a binding around them that had nothing to do with how George was crushing her to his front, had nothing to do with how he was leaning his forehead against hers, had nothing to do with the way his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment –

It was like a warm copper wire wound and tangled around them, cinching them in –

"_Mine_," his gravelly response rushed out of him with a sigh, flowing over Hermione like a soothing balm, a gentle breeze through bare tree branches –

_And everything that had been ringing and building between them for months fell silent._

Hermione could feel George's heartbeat against her ear, could hear it racing in his chest, could hear the air he was pulling into and pushing from his lungs deeply and in return, she took a deep shuddering breath.

"What -" she started.

The library door swung open and Sirius and the Weasleys flooded into the room, laughing and cajoling, carrying half-empty butterbeers and happy celebratory faces.

"Happy New Ye -"

George and Hermione sprung apart but as Hermione's shocked face surveyed the new occupants of the room, she could immediately see it was too late. Fred and Ginny both looked like they had been trying to delay everyone's migration to the library but were thoroughly unsuccessful, Sirius had a curious look on his face, and everyone else looked shocked. Molly was gazing between them open-mouthed and Arthur looked surprised but elated. Harry looked lost, like he was grasping over the last four months and trying to come up with an instance where he should have picked up on something between his best friend and his other best friend's older brother.

"Hang on a minute," Ron started, pointing between Hermione and George with the neck of his butterbeer, his face red. "What exactly is going on here?" The group had turned to Ron at his outburst, and they swiftly looked back for an explanation.

The silence was crushing and before Hermione could even fathom coming up with a response, George stepped in.

"We're dating?" he offered up for his family.

"Surprise!" Hermione finished lamely, feeling the stares of everyone in the room zero in on her.

* * *

**A/N:  
**

**Hello! This chapter officially puts us over the 100k word mark!  
**

**Excuse the lateness. **

**Real life has been a little difficult lately. Just to be clear, I haven't forgotten about this story at all. I love it to bits and will finish it in time. I'm sorry if this turns some people away but sometimes real life has to be dealt with before I can sit down and write. **

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed since my last update - you guys keep me motivated and remind me that there are people waiting for an update and the eventual end of the story, which helps keep me going. **

**Thank you to all the new readers who read up to date in the last month! **

**Please leave me a review and let me know what you think of this turn (_or a few turns really_). This one was loaded, especially at the end there.**

**Until next time!**


	23. Chapter 23

"You're _what_?" Ron asked, bewildered, his brows furrowing in confusion as Harry remained silent and looked like he was trying to finish a particularly difficult puzzle in his head.

"Congratulations!" Arthur threw up his hands and stepped forward. He pulled Hermione into a hug and she relished in the moment her face was hidden from the prying eyes of every house guest in attendance.

"Oh, yes, that's lovely, Hermione dear," Molly spoke up, quickly covering her shock. "Perhaps you can get him to score better on his NEWTs than he did on his OWLs." The look she shot George was minute and sharp and Hermione saw the resulting sting on George's face, if only for a moment.

Hermione avoided eye contact with Harry and Ron, and while she was trying to find something else to look at, Sirius caught her eye. He gave her a cheeky wink and held up his glass over Ginny's head, toasting them and Hermione resisted the urge to yell out "_It's not what you think!"_

"Happy New Year, indeed," the ex-convict chuckled and Remus' brows pulled together for a just a moment, his gray eyes sliding back and forth between George and Hermione.

"Has everyone gone mental?" Ron asked, bewildered.

"Oh, shut up Ron," Ginny laughed.

"Did you know about this?" he asked his younger sister, starting a bickering match between the two in the most effective manner possible.

Arthur continued beaming and Remus was still watching them closely as Sirius ambled his way into the library and took up his post in his favourite drinking chair. Fred's eyes were fixed on George, the two having a silent conversation through the crowd which Hermione could only assume had to do with the sudden unexplained shift.

It wasn't what any of them thought it was and now –

The connection between her and George that had just minutes previously been thrumming and pulling and vibrating was dormant and quiet.

There was nothing.

* * *

Ginny was right, of course.

Mrs. Weasley didn't let Hermione and George alone for a moment. She organized cleaning tasks and made sure they were never left in the same room together but that would hardly have been a concern if she knew that each was avoiding the other like the plague of their own volition.

As usual, Hermione retreated into her head and tried to get everything straight.

Her memory of New Year's Eve was hazy and clouded, jumbled and utterly confusing.

One moment they had been caught up with each other, the next fighting and then –

Everything changed and Hermione wasn't sure what any of it meant.

_Mine_.

The last four months had been an exercise in adjusting to the new circumstances between her and George in its multiple stages, and when they were finally – _seemingly_ \- levelling out and finding common ground, everything changed again. The link had faded and gone silent and Hermione was utterly lost. The frustration at not knowing what exactly George had cast was eating at her, and she felt that if she could just_ know_ what it was he'd done wrong, she might have some more answers.

At this point, _anything_ was a new lead.

Unsettled, Hermione found herself grateful for the distractions Mrs. Weasley provided. Keeping her hands busy meant her mind didn't have free reign and that she would at least be away from George so that she could try and think things through.

"Are you really dating George?" Harry asked one afternoon as they paired up to dust the far reaches of the cabinet tops in the galley kitchen.

"Yes," she answered, level.

The dust was making Harry sneeze so hard his glasses were dangling from one ear and Hermione traded places with him. Climbing up onto the counter, she took over the duster as Harry stood by to accept the horrid decorative plates she moved as she went.

"I mean, not to sound like an idiot but… Why?" he pressed. They hadn't spoken about it in the few days since everyone had 'found out' and Hermione knew the question would come up eventually.

"Well, it's…" she trailed off, her hand slowing its repetitive wiping motion as she searched for an appropriate explanation. "It's complicated."

"I dreamt I was the snake that attacked Ron's dad as it was actually happening. Is it more complicated than that?"

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, grateful for Harry's ability to give her perspective.

"No, I suppose not," she continued, handing him more trinkets and shuffling along the counter. "It's just… Well, we aren't a couple that people would have expected, I guess."

"Understatement," Harry coughed obnoxiously, giving her pointed look and laughing when she took a swipe at him in retaliation with the grubby cloth in her hand.

"That's quite enough from _you_," she wagged a threatening finger before turning back to her task. "Oh, Harry, this is all so _convoluted_."

"Do you have _George_ in your head giving you headaches and haunting your nightmares?" Harry asked facetiously, handing her more plates and trinkets back to replace in their spots.

"Er… Sort of," Hermione laughed quietly, remembering the vividly unique torture of distance between them and the healing powers of a simple touch from the last months. The vision of him behind the shower curtain and leaning against the white tiled wall of the seventh year boys' shower jumped to mind. Heat flooded her neck and face at the memory of the grating moans that had echoed around her, climbing her limbs and ricocheting around her cranium on a loop.

"Oh _gross_, Hermione, I didn't mean like _that_!" Harry cackled at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

"I didn't _either_! Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry Potter!" Hermione demanded, shrill.

"Oh I do so love a good gutter," Fred announced, swinging the kitchen door open and traipsing through. His face was covered in soot smudges as well as his arms and hands. "Budge up, love."

Hermione shuffled out of the way so that Fred could retrieve a glass from the cupboard by her leg and Aguamenti himself some water.

"The tap is just there," she scoffed, looking around for a way to hop down from the counter conveniently as George walked in.

"And my wand is just _here_," Fred quipped back and George snorted but offered her a hand to help her down.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled as she took it.

They hadn't touched since the pulling, cinching tug of their uttered claims over each other in the library, when the bright, hot, coppery feeling of wire had entwined around them before releasing and signalling the beginning of something entirely new.

George grasped her hand and their eyes flicked to each other briefly, both hesitant and unnerved. As Hermione's hand slid into his and settled against his palm, there was no tingles, no static, no reaction.

"Down you come," George started, cutting the moment short and reaching for her with his other hand as well. Hermione took it and hopped down, sneakers thumping down beside his before they dropped hands and stepped away from each other. Harry gave her an odd look as George turned away for some water for himself but she ignored it, her mind spinning at the idea of _no connection_ between her and George Weasley.

* * *

**Hello!**

**My, it has been a while, has it not?**

**So here is where we stand with this fic, and when you leave a review for the chapter, please let me know what you think of these options:**

**I continue to post 6k-9k word chapters and it might take longer between updates or**

**I upload every 1k-2k like this chapter length and hopefully that encourages me to keep writing more often because it's less pressure.**

**I absolutely won't abandon Retribution, but something's got to give. I'm done school in March (hopefully) and until then, things just won't be letting up for me and it only makes me more stressed to put any sort of expectation on myself in terms of writing fanfiction. To be completely frank, I'm leaning towards shorter chapters more often.**

**Let me know what you think! I know it's been awhile but I want to know who's still up for updates!**

**Thanks so much for all of your continued support and encouragement; it means the world to me.  
**

**Cheers!**


	24. Chapter 24

Before Hermione knew what to do with herself, the last day of hols dawned and she was packing to return to Hogwarts. She had spent the remainder of her free time in the past week riffling through the Black Family Library, not really knowing what she was looking for but desperately searching for any sort of answer. It had been the most disorganised and random study session she had ever conducted, and had turned up less than her least successful.

"Knock knock."

"Hi Sirius." Hermione looked up to find Sirius leaning against the doorway casually as she folded her last jumper and tucked in into her trunk.

"'Lo, doll," he took her greeting as permission to enter, though he hardly needed it seeing as it was his own house and she was his guest. "Thought you might like to read this."

He handed her an old book that was covered in brown leather and worn smooth on the spine, the gold foil detail completely rubbed off in places.

"Even I can't read fast enough to get through that in one night, Sirius," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Take it with you," he responded nonchalantly before turning and ambling back out again.

"_The Traditions, Customs and Practices of the British Pureblood Class_?" Hermione read slowly, brows furrowed. That sounded _interesting_ but what had prompted the loan?

Sirius gave her cheeky wink and disappeared, leaving her to pack the book with a shrug and gather the rest of her things.

The day was dull and gray, the chill in the air insistent as they were usher out to the street by Tonks and Lupin. The Knight Bus arrived with a BANG and Hermione swallowed her nausea at the thought of boarding. The winter countryside raced by as they skipped through snow-covered fields and city centres and dodged between cars and the centre barricade on the A1 at one unfortunate point.

Hermione was quickly coming to one conclusion.

She would have to speak to George and they would need to conduct a few experiments and see what had changed between them. If the spell had released them or worn off, they could part ways quickly and get back to life at Hogwarts as normal.

She could go back to scolding them and giving detention and they could be free to prank and misbehave all they wanted.

Normalcy.

Reliability.

As if he read her mind, there was a scrap of paper pressed into her palm as they disembarked the Bus at Hogsmeade.

'_Old classroom on the sixth floor by the mad painting of the elves, tomorrow night, 7:00'_

* * *

"I'll let you know when the next one is," Harry sighed again as yet another D.A. member sought him out to ask about the next meeting time. "But I can't do tonight, I've got to go to – er – Remedial Potions."

Harry was absolutely thrilled about his Occlumency meeting with Professor Snape that evening and Hermione was just a tiny bit thankful that he was distracted enough not to pick up on her preoccupation with her own planned rendezvous. Ron was still offended enough at the thought of private meetings with Snape and would remain distracted enough to not notice her disappearance anyway.

When seven o'clock came, she pushed into the disused classroom to find George standing in front of the blackboard with a contemplative look on his face and his notebook in his hand.

"Hi," Hermione broke the silence, closing the door behind herself.

"Hi," he responded, turning at the sound of her voice.

Neither knew what to say or do with themselves, their bodies that once pulled and tugged towards each other remaining still on opposite ends of the empty classroom.

"How was, er, your first day back?" George asked. He set his book down by his bag and leant against one of the heavy oak desks, crossing his ankles and propping the heels of his hands on the desktop.

"Frightful, considering we just had Defense," Hermione gave him a small smile and that seemed to break the awkward aura.

"Still haven't used those sweets from us, have you?" George chuckled.

"Not on your life," Hermione shook her head, stepping farther into the room and looking around.

Cobwebs clung to the stone at every turn, the corners thick with dust. There was a wall of empty bookshelves along the back and the blackboard stretched the length of the facing side. Simple wooden desks were arranged in a typical format for Hogwarts - three rows - and each desk wide enough for a pair of students. The air was a bit musty but the room was cold enough without any of the windows open so Hermione put it out of her mind.

"I take it you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asked, sliding up to sit on the desktop across from him, immediately thankful she was wearing tights as the cold of the wood sucked the heat from the bottom of her thighs.

"If the conclusion you've come to is that you don't know what the fuck is going on, then yes," George gave her a lop-sided smile and she grinned reluctantly. Hermione watched as he moved closer and hopped up onto the other side of her desk easily, bringing his long legs up and crossing them, leaning his elbows on his knees. Biting the inside of her cheek, Hermione turned and did the same, arranging her skirt over her lap carefully.

"So…" she started, unsure of where to begin.

"We should probably sort out what happened on New Years'," George suggested, his eyebrows lifting. "I don't know about you, but everything's shifted for me."

"Yes," Hermione heaved a breath of relief. "It has for me too. Okay, well, erm -"

"Here."

George handed her a sheaf of parchment and a quill. "You're the better note-taker."

Not even knowing where to start taking notes for their predicament, Hermione deferred to sketching out a basic timeline of events, beginning with the sixth of September, the day George supplied as the day he cast the spell, and ending with the present date, the thirteenth of January.

_Four months_.

"Right, so the symptoms got worse and worse up until -" Hermione scribbled.

"Up until New Year's Eve," George supplied, "and then it felt sort of... erm…"

"Tight?" Hermione offered and watched George's eyes slowly glaze over and his cheeks pink.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, it was like, erm, a tugging when you said, er – '_mine_' – a lot stronger than the usual sort of tugs, you know the ones I mean."

Hermione nodded in agreement and lowered her eyes to scribble some more notes on her parchment, using her knee as a tabletop.

"And then it sort of…" Hermione looked up slowly, "Faded? I mean, it didn't just disappear but it faded really quickly, at least for me. I mean, I didn't feel anything then and I don't – I don't now. Do you?"

George reached the short distance and picked her hand up off her knee, settling her fingertips into the hollow of his palm. They both remained silent, staring intently at the small physical connection with baited breath.

"No," he responded to her question a long moment later, setting her hand back on her thigh with a sigh.

* * *

**You all seem very keen on shorter updates more often and I'm pleased to say that that is now my solid goal. Finals are coming up next month for this quarter but I am really going to put my best efforts into updating fairly consistently. I forgot how much joy writing this and hearing your feedback gives me and I'm not willing to let it fall by the wayside again. **

**If you have Tumblr, come on over and say hi, drop me an ask, interact – I love hearing from you guys and I'm quite active over there. I also post rare pair drabbles and one shots that I don't generally post on fanfiction over there under the tag 'read this' and 'mine'. You can find me at justcourbeau dot tumblr dot com. **

**Thanks for all your lovely messages telling me to take care of myself, first and foremost! You guys are so sweet. **

**Cheers!**


	25. Chapter 25

Everything was confusing.

On one hand, George was grateful that the maddenly insistent reverberation between them had ceased, he could think clearly and precisely, and didn't have a constant thrum skittering over his nerves when Hermione was near. On the _other_ hand, he was diligently ignoring the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that his current state of sullenness was due to yearning for that very same feeling to be back again.

How royally bolloxed was his life that he _longed_ for the torture her relative nearness provided and c_raved_ the very adamant, persisting draw he felt tugging him in her direction? It went without saying that things were complicated between them – when had that not been true in the last four months? – and she had thrown him for a loop on New Year's Eve.

"'_Might as well'_", he mumbled to himself as he recalled her words to him that night while he trekked back toward Gryffindor Tower. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing the rhythmic thump of his schoolbag on his thigh distract him from getting worked up again.

He'd vowed to himself that wouldn't force her to make any decisions she wouldn't have had to make before this whole thing got right mucked and he never wanted her to feel so cavalier about something such as sex, considering as she didn't strike him as the sort of girl who just slept around for good fun. He never wanted to take that from her.

And she was just throwing it at him now – all because of his actions, and it wasn't something he could passively let happen, no matter how much his hands had shook in concentration as he declined to go along with her plan.

_That_ whole situation had been plenty to deal with but on top of it –

Fucking _magic_. It could be so confusing.

George didn't even know where to begin to try and find out what exactly had happened when they'd… _claimed_ each other? Is that what they had done? He couldn't think of another term for it.

The feeling was immeasurable. It had felt like – like folding chocolate chips into cookie batter with mum and running a perfect play on the Quidditch field and waking up after a great sleep with nothing he had to do immediately and the first sounds of dawn over the Scottish hills and –

Amazing things.

Whatever it was, it had surged and wrapped and cinching them closer and actually physically forced them towards each other and then fireworks, light and crackling splitting logs in the fire – not literal of course – but then _nothing_.

George had watched Hermione closely as they'd touched in the dusty classroom to assess their current situation. They had both waited with baited breath before concluding there was no current of electricity to be felt, no crackling of nerves, no unending pull or wheeling of vision or desire to take the other by storm.

In short, he was buggered.

The common room was relatively full when he returned, fellow students still cheery and energetic after the first day back. Bits of snow were drifted in the windowpanes of the tower, stark against the dark abyss beyond, but the fire danced merrily and the abundance of throws and pillows immediately warmed him to his bones.

Hermione had left him in the classroom minutes before to go study with Ron in the library but a quarter of an hour after George had settled at a table with Lee and Fred to prepare a demonstration of the products they had been working at over the hols, the pair appeared in the portrait hole.

"Where's The Scarred One?" Fred asked and Hermione sniffed, sitting down forcefully at the table behind Lee.

"Detention," Ron sighed.

"_Already_?" Seamus remarked from nearby. "Works fast, don't 'e?"

"It's not _detention_, Ron, it's _Remedial Potions_," Hermione corrected them with a pointed look before pulling her textbooks from her bag.

"Sounds like detention to me," George cringed and the majority of the people close enough to hear Hermione's explanation nodded in sympathy, Neville even mouthing something that looked like '_oh no_' to himself.

"That's pants," Dean said sullenly, his graphite-smudged fingers coming to rest on his sketchbook contemplatively.

"Let's get this show on the road," Fred turned back around in his seat, and leaned in closely. "We've settled on the Headless Hats, yeah?"

"Right-o, Freddie," George pulled the final prototype they had perfected from his bag and brandished it about dramatically.

"Hermione's not going to have a conniption about that, is she?" Lee asked dubiously.

"_They're dating now_," Fred winked. "She wouldn't do that, Georgie's got too much charm. Gets it from me, I expect."

George handed over the feathered to hat to Fred and took a deep breath as they moved away from the table. He sincerely hoped Hermione wouldn't scold him or otherwise reprimand them. The hats _were_ amazing after all.

"Headless Hats!" he bellowed. Students began to gather or turn in their seats, quite used to their demonstrations now. Eyes were expectant and people craned their necks around friends to get a good look at the twins. "Two Galleons each – watch Fred now!"

Fred beamed at the crowd and settled the hat atop his head and a moment later, it and his head disappeared. There were some scattered shrieks from around the crowd and George gave Lee a surreptitious thumbs-up.

"And off again!" he shouted and his twin's hand groped around over his shoulders theatrically before his head reappeared and he swept the hat off of it and paused for dramatic effect for applause. They received a rousing chorus and George glanced over at Hermione quickly in the din. His stomach dropped in his belly, noting the look of _admiration_ on her face as she regarded them.

* * *

Orders had poured in, students back from Christmas holidays with gift money to spend. It really was the perfect time to advertise and launch a new product and Lee's marketing savvy was greatly appreciated once again. They tallied their orders and started drawing up a plan for production starting that evening when George felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His stomach turned over a fraction of a second before there was a shriek from nearby and he knew without a doubt that it was Hermione. He whipped his head around and felt himself rising from his seat before he'd even thought about what he was doing.

Fred's hand reached out and caught his elbow, startling him into rethinking his actions. George dropped the few inches back onto the bench and strained to hear anything of the trio's conversation.

Hermione was holding the Daily Prophet and staring at it in horror.

"Can I borrow this?" George asked Lee, picking up his yet-unused paper and Lee nodded, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Yeah mate, go on."

They knew in an instant what had made Hermione scream.

Death Eaters had broken out of Azkaban.

* * *

**Hi again!**

**Coming up next is one of my absolute favourite scenes from the whole story, and I'm going to try for the end of the week because I'm very excited about it. **

**Many of you are lamenting the loss of the spell, but hold on. We aren't done yet. ;)**

**Thanks for reading, and leave me a review on your way out!**

**Cheers**


	26. Chapter 26

"I knew things were bad, but…" Fred's voice trailed off as a few seats away Hermione stood quickly and raced out of the Great Hall. George watched until her skirt whipped around the corner and disappeared from sight, wishing he could follow her.

He could, couldn't he? They had announced their 'relationship' on New Year's Eve to the family, and people at school seemed to be picking it up from somewhere. He could follow her and see what was wrong and maybe get a quiet moment to assess what had happened.

He'd known something was wrong _before_ Hermione had screamed.

How was that possible? That seemed so –

George stopped himself. After the events of the last four months, he really couldn't say that this breakfast was completely unfathomable.

"We're going to have to do something," George turned back to Fred and Lee.

"You mean like we've discussed?" Lee asked, leaning in closer.

"Sooner," Fred nodded.

"Agreed," George nodded. Death Eaters escaping Azkaban changed things. They didn't have time to wait around, letting people they loved be killed, or worse.

"We know you can't come Lee, and it's fine. Stay here and stay safe. Things are going to get worse -" Fred said.

"- A lot worse -" George interjected.

"- Before they get better," Fred finished.

"I can feel it in the air," Lee nodded absently, casting his dark eyes around the Hall. "Can you?"

George glanced at Fred and knew instantly that yes, they both felt the shift in atmosphere. News of the escape was travelling through the student body quickly – _visibly_ – like a frisson or a shiver passed from one to the next. The morning light was pale and cool, and it felt as though the temperature was dropping at the news, like the castle itself was acknowledging the change and unconsciously signalling its occupants that something was terribly, horribly out of whack.

"Yeah mate, we do," George turned away from Fred and voiced.

"And we can't stay here and just let things happen. We're of age," George mentioned, a repeat from their last conversation about leaving school if things started to get obviously worse.

"And we have to help the Order. We just have to," Fred shook his head before setting it down on his crossed arms dejectedly.

"I wish I was of age. I could come, I could help, I could _fight_," Lee stressed.

"Your birthday's not until May." Fred's voice was distant as he spoke to his knees, head still down.

"You'd more likely get yourself killed trying to help," George sighed. "Being underage is bollocks. This is just like the Triwizard Cup!"

Lee barked out a laugh and George saw Fred's head turn to look at him.

"_Just_ like the Cup Fiasco of 1994," he sighed dramatically.

George did end up following Hermione to where he assumed she would be, since she had left without Harry or Ron in tow. He found her in a quiet section of the library scribbling on a piece of parchment quickly. As he approached and walked through the pale strips of weak sunlight spilling in through the tall windows, she paused and touched the end of her quill to her chin, reading over something she had just written down.

The paleness of the light revealed the porcelain perfection of her skin, and though he wasn't close enough to see the smattering of freckles across her nose, he knew exactly where to look for each and every one of them when he _was_. The image of her sitting at the desk, unaware of his presence yet in precise synchronicity with her setting was one he found himself unwilling to let slip away and he slowed his steps, trying to prolong the moment.

His heart gave a deep, heady thump – _expanding, swelling_ \- and Hermione looked up a split second later.

Her eyes opened wider at the sight of him, just a smidge, and he registered her surprise. Remembering the look she had on her face last night when she was admiring their demonstration made the urge to grin irrepressible. George felt his lips tugging up into a smile and to his delight, she reciprocated.

"Uh, hey," he started, before inwardly sighing. Smooth.

"Hi," she chirruped. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks. What are you up to?" he nodded toward the parchment and Hermione immediate pulled it toward her and slid it into a book.

"Nothing, just… Nothing," she shook her head innocently, biting her lip as she did so.

"Nice try, Granger," George chuckled, fidgeting with his hands in his pockets. "So you saw about the Death Eaters?"

Hermione's face darkened immediately, the flush on her cheeks from him asking about her activities seeming out of place after the shift.

"I did. Can you _believe_ the Ministry? They're still on about Sirius being the ringleader as well," Hermione huffed.

"I'm sure he's laughing about it," George hedged.

"Not likely, considering he's related to one of the escapees by blood," Hermione tarried. She shut her bag after slipping the book inside and stood from the table. Snagging her quill off the desktop, she reached up and stuck into her bun, curls catching it and holding it in place. George snorted, looking down at his toes and trying to resist the urge to sway closer to her.

"So you _are_ dating."

Hermione and George turned at the intrusion, both startled but the sudden harsh voice.

Eddie Carmichael's face was hard and his sneer jagged. George felt his hackles rise immediately in the face of the Ravenclaw, and he found himself rubbing the knuckles of his right hand rhythmically with his left. Just the other boy's _tone_ was enough to get him itching to knock him about again.

"Leave us alone, Eddie," Hermione sighed wearily, making George wonder if the sixth year had been bothering her recently. The itching grew stronger and the need to protect Hermione expanded in his midsection, pressing tightly against his ribs.

"So that's a yes?" Eddie pressed, sharp.

"That's a '_none of your business'_, Carmichael, so why don't you just turn around and leave," George ground out.

"I've as much right to be here as you do," he motioned smoothly around him.

"But you don't have to be _right here_," Hermione commented, putting her hand on her hip and pursing her lips.

"But I can if I want."

"Oh, do you have to be such a child? Let's go," Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and started for the entrance. When George didn't move to follow her, she looked back. "Come on, George."

George could feel his face set like steel, and his eyes narrowed tightly at the Ravenclaw.

"Yeah, George," Carmichael sneered again, taunting. "Run along."

"He's being immensely immature, ignore him," Hermione turned around fully, holding out her hand for George to take. The anger that had been building and bubbling near the surface broke suddenly as he reached out to take it. Though he didn't want to turn his back on Eddie Carmichael, George let out the breath he had been holding and with it, the excess anger.

What was the worst the boy could do?

Hermione's hand was warm and small, settling perfectly into his palm when Dumbledore appeared from around a tall shelf of books.

"I would not do that if I were you, Mister Carmichael," Professor Dumbledore's voice was quiet and commanding, and George and Hermione turned around.

Eddie was standing in place with his wand raised to their backs and a shocked look on his face. His arm wavered and fell a moment after the Headmaster appeared.

"Sorry, sir, I -" his mouth hung open in shock.

"I know what you were about to do. Do not let your emotions get the better of you. Run along," he suggested. "I daresay I thought you had Divination in approximately seven minutes, and I must say that is a frighteningly short amount of time to get oneself up through the trapdoor and into the North Tower if they are coming from the library."

"Yes, sir," he stammered before speeding off in the direction of the exit, not pausing once to look at George or Hermione again.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione spoke once he had disappeared, relief crystal clear.

"Ah, think nothing of it, Miss Granger. I was glad to be of assistance. Being the Headmaster has its perks," the old man chuckled warmly. "I see congratulations are in order."

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, but George saw his eyes flicker down to their joined hands and held them up.

"Thank you, sir," George couldn't help beaming.

Why was he so happy? This was a _fake_ relationship, was it not?

"Oh!" Hermione startled, realising her mistake. "Oh, yes, thank you. We, um…"

"Young love," Dumbledore stated, filling what was about to become an awkward silence. "How truly extraordinary."

"Oh – yes, of course," Hermione flushed crimson and George followed suit. "We should probably – class, you know, we shouldn't be hanging around – Oh goodness, I'm going to be late for Charms -"

"Extraordinary, indeed," Dumbledore commented, his eyes twinkling.

* * *

**;)**

**Side note, turns out I lied. The scene I meant is in the _next_ chapter. **

**Happy Monday!**


	27. Chapter 27

The crimson canopy of her bed remained still and motionless. All the windows were sealed shut against the winter winds, putting the possibility of a breeze far from probability. Hermione's eyes traced the gentle arc of the fabric, tilting her head to admire the perfect curvature as it bowed down slightly toward her under the influence of gravity. The fabric itself looked like it had once been plush and had probably cost a fine galleon or two but had lost a small amount of its body in the years since. Magic couldn't fix everything.

The halls were abuzz with the news of the escaped Death Eaters and for once Hermione found herself unable to resort to the library for any resource she might need. After all the incessant chatter of the last week, she decided to remain in her bed until later in the morning and avoid hearing about the subject again for as long as possible.

Somehow Boderick Bode factored into the equation, she was sure of it. His death by potted Devil's Snare was simple enough to be completely genius and the slickness of it, _the gall_, was niggling at her.

She had been over it in her head as many times as she could stand but she had to let the subject lie for a moment and think about things other than the recent developments and deaths they'd read about in the Prophet.

Since the day Professor Dumbledore had prevented Eddie Carmichael from hexing her and George in the library, she hadn't seen much more than the back of the seventh year's head. He was suspiciously absent – along with his twin and his best friend – at times when he could normally be seen creating havoc and mischief and Hermione wondered what they were up to. The term 'quiet before the storm' never applied so completely and thoroughly to any situation they didn't find themselves in as ones they did, and Hermione refused to follow the subtle instinct to go searching for George.

Parvati and Lavender were rustling in their beds sleepily, and Hermione recognized the familiar noises of her dorm mates getting ready to wake up for the day.

"Mmm…" Lavender pulled a corner of her hangings back to peek out into the open space. "Hermione?" she asked, sleepfogged and groggy.

"Good morning," Hermione responded, still staring up at her canopy.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh yes," she sighed.

Once the girls had showered and left for breakfast, Hermione rolled over and pulled a book toward her. Perhaps if she read for a bit, she would be ready to face Harry and Ron and have a fresh hash of the facts as they were wont to do. Until then…

Hermione shifted and squirmed, tried reading, tried counting back from ten, shifted some more, rolled over, adjusted her blankets and her pillows, removed her sweater, all to no avail. She couldn't seem to settle and concentrate on the novel in her hands. Her attention wasn't captured.

She searched for another book and found that she'd read them all except one, but she wasn't really in the mood for learning the complicated intricacies of pureblood traditions.

* * *

Before long, a few weeks had passed and Hermione had not only sent out a request to secure a meeting with Rita Skeeter to interview Harry on the Valentine's Hogsmeade visit, but she had also been making time to help Hagrid with lesson plans. He was on probation thanks to Umbridge and Hermione was essentially making sure he was showing appropriate creatures to each section of his classes for their knowledge level.

Coaching the gamekeeper kept her busy and occupied, leaving less time for her to linger on thoughts of George. She never even had to initiate thinking about the moment she had held her hand out to him in the library; her brain seemed to slip into longing melancholy with less than no provocation.

Her feelings on the matter were jumbled and it felt like the more she actively tried to work out heads from tails, the more she tangled the mass of yarn that was her and George.

One chilly Sunday Hermione was returning from a preparation session with Hagrid while contemplating what she should do about George again. Something made her pause on the staircase leading back to Gryffindor Tower. Struck with an idea, she wheeled on her heel and set off up another staircase, praying it didn't shift before she reached the landing.

The castle was quiet; more and more Educational Decrees were piling on and the entire populace was feeling the weight of them on their shoulders. People were less and less likely to linger in corridors and chat for fear of getting saddled with a detention.

Quietly, Hermione padded down the corridor and pulled off her scarf as she slowed to a stop.

_He was in there_.

She could feel it.

Grasping the old brass knob, she twisted and pushed into the room quietly, not knowing what to expect.

The old classroom they had met in just after they returned to Hogwarts looked just the same aside from the blackboards being full of chalk scribbles.

George was standing in front of the chalkboard, one arm crossed in front of his body and cupping the opposite elbow, the free hand tapping a small misshapen piece of chalk against his cheek. His feet were squared down from his shoulders and he was regarding the chalkboard stoically, facial features carved from marble but eyes running smoothly over his equations. Hermione's eyes followed along the many curves and dips of the characters drawn up at the front of the room, her mouth dropping open in awe as her brain took fragments and clicked them into place.

"_Wow_," she breathed.

"Thanks."

George hadn't moved and for a moment she had forgotten he was even there. The sound of his voice in the near-empty classroom startled her, deeper than she remembered it being. He was leaning back on his heels, his hips jutting out smugly.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked quietly.

"How did you know where to find me?" he deflected.

So he was feeling slight things too.

Hermione took careful steps in the direction of the boards, dropping her coat and other winter things on a desktop and coming to a stop at his side.

"But that's… _that's_ the rune for imagination…" she puzzled, half raising finger to point to the scribble she had just spotted.

"Mhm," George nodded, shifting on his heels minutely.

"But you don't even _take_ Ancient Runes!" she turned her head sharply to look at him, finding his self-satisfied smirk already staring back at her.

"No, but it blends well with certain Charm work, wouldn't you agree?" he tossed back conversationally.

Hermione's jaw dropped open.

"You were actually listening to me? I was the one who said that!"

"Mmm, and it was brilliant of you," George gave her a cheeky wink before turning back to the board. "But I can't seem to make it stick for any sort of shelf life, and I'm running out of ideas…"

Hermione motioned vaguely for the chalk and he held it out to her. She plucked it deftly from his fingertips before standing back and contemplating the train of thought she was on for a moment before deciding it had magical merit. Placing the tip against the board, Hermione began a quick scribble, dragging the chalk smoothly over the surface and enjoying the way the sound of it skittered over the shell of her ear.

A sort of triangle shape, a curve with intersecting lines…

"You've lost me, love. What do those all mean?" George asked when she straightened again, rolling her shoulders back to release the threatening tightness.

"'Intent' – 'steadfastness' – that's 'loyalty' for good measure because it isn't something with ill will – that's 'bound' but on second thought -" Hermione leaned forward and put a strike through the rune she was referencing. "Can you hand me that Spellman's Syllabary?"

George shuffled and returned a moment later with a library copy of the syllabary, handing it to her softly.

"You've got 'happy' here but…" she flipped to the index and ran a finger down the column until she spotted what she was looking for.

"That seemed like a no-brainer," George grinned crookedly.

"Yes but… I think 'content' is a better adjective for your purposes. 'Happy' might give you more a Cheering Charm effect than you'd like…"

George handed the chalk back to her and used the side of his fisted hand to rub out the offending rune before motioning for Hermione to fill in the gap with her suggestion.

"I mean reducing the charm to its mathematical components is… difficult spellwork," Hermione heard her voice get breathy as she scribbled down the new rune. "And to alter it takes even more skill but you're not even doing that! You're crafting a charm from scratch!" The more she thought about what was on the board, the more impressed and astounded she felt herself become.

"Well," George hedged, "not entirely. This section here is from a handy muffling charm I found and this whole adage is pulling from the inherent properties of the ingredients of a Dreamless Sleep Potion. I had help."

Hermione's mouth was still slightly agape after his explanation and he gave her a little shrug, his cheeks pink.

"Brilliant," she breathed. "That may be but this is still astounding spellwork, George. To understand the inner workings of any of these components is enough of an accomplishment but to reassemble them cohesively after blending two _or more_ completely different elements is another thing _entirely_."

Hermione gave him the chalk nub and dusted her hands off, the clapping skin punctuating the silence sharply. She stepped backward until she touched a desk in the first row and lifted herself up to perch on the tabletop.

She settled her eyes at one end of the board and worked her way to the other, pausing to comprehend all of his equations and theorems and symbols before coming to the conclusion that this was one amazing bit of magic.

"What will you call it?" Hermione asked quietly after the minutes of silence George had kept while she worked it all over in her head.

"A Patented Daydream Charm," he responded with a grin.

* * *

**Hey there!  
**

**Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers and anyone else who celebrates.**

**This was one of those moments that appeared completely fully formed in my head from the first day I started writing this ten months ago (?!) and I've waited up until now to write it in where it was meant to be. It's one of my favourite moments. **

**A while ago I had a review that mentioned George and Hermione finding another level to relate on, to give them more depth so that their connection wasn't just completely physical. I desperately wanted to spill the beans but I'm glad I saved it. **

**I haven't explained what's going on and your theories are priceless.**

**Again, happy holidays, and please leave me a review!**

**Cheers!**


	28. Chapter 28

She had no idea they were so brilliant.

_No_ idea.

She knew they were resourceful and imaginative and had a penchant for mischief and gray areas of all natures but –

Hermione supposed that it made sense that they were intelligent and genius in their own ways, and the fact that she had never questioned her assumptions from before struck her as ghastly. The somewhat scathing mention of their OWLs on New Year's night and George's face in reaction to it made much more sense in the wake of Hermione's epiphany.

"What do people think of you?" she asked one February afternoon as they worked away in the library.

George had been spending more time with her, just doing things like homework and studying and engaging her in conversations to do with whatever the twins were working on. It felt almost like before, when they were balancing the desire to physically touch with seeming like there was nothing wrong except –

It was different.

This wasn't forced and this was gradual and this didn't feel like something she _had_ to take part in lest she break under the pressure of it all. This was a choice.

"They think I'm a handsome, dapper fellow with an unprecedented talent for everything under the sun, and that you obviously have great taste," he gave her a cheeky wink before going back to his textbook.

"You know what I _mean_," she huffed, biting the inside of her lip.

Hermione _chose_ to sit with him at the breakfast table and George _chose_ to carry her bag for her whenever he could get away with it. Hermione _chose_ to let him talk her into conversations about theoretical magic that she was positive he was taking notes on, and George _chose_ to spend a large majority of his evenings listening to her prattle on about some such injustice, all the while grinning.

"What _do_ you mean, what do people think of me?" he looked up from his text and dropped his quill onto the table, reclining back in his seat for a break.

"I mean…" Hermione debated on the best way to phrase her question. "I mean, people who know you're brilliant, what do they say when you do something like get three OWLs?"

George blinked, his brow twitching.

"Honestly Hermione, people don't give much notice. And even if they did, I'd try not to care," he sighed.

"I mean, take you mother for example." Hermione set her own quill down and bit her lip.

"She just doesn't think Fred and I are doing the most we can with our lives. But that's _her_ opinion. Since when have you known us to do what mum says just because she says it?" he laughed.

"Very true," Hermione grinned and nodded.

"Well, what do _you_ think of me?" George leaned in, his gaze holding her own captive.

"I thought other people's opinions didn't matter," Hermione hedged, feeling the heat start at her collar.

"Now that's not at all what I said," George rallied. "Come on, what do you think of me?"

"I…" the words died on her lips and she floundered. This was not the path she had anticipated this conversation to take.

In truth, she didn't really know what she was feeling at all. It wasn't _forced_ but it was something, and that she couldn't deny. She just didn't know what name to give it. Or what it even was. She was so used to not trusting her own instincts since the spell that she was too unsure to say.

His eyes were remarkable, a darker blue ring around the outside of the iris with a lighter blue toward the centre, just a few flecks of rusty orange somehow suspended perfectly in the ridges and delicate peaks of colour. George looked like he was observing her just as closely as she was him, and the moment froze in time.

It was something.

_This_ was something.

"Will you two stop _mooning_ at each other?"

The pair jumped as Ron and Harry joined their table suddenly and Hermione looked up to see a pair of Ravenclaw girls giggling behind their hands at them.

"We aren't _mooning-_"

"You are so, and it's making me want to sick everywhere," Ron grumbled, throwing himself into the seat next to Hermione.

"Just because you're jealous of _true love_," George started, laughing before Ron again interrupted him and thankfully no one seemed to notice Hermione's eyes snapping up at George's words.

"'_True love_' my arse," he snorted.

"How would _you_ know what true love is? Have a lot of experience in that field, do you?" Hermione tossed out sharply, her stomach swooping low in her belly.

"Oh, boy," Harry sighed, setting his chin on his palm dejectedly.

"You're telling me you're in love with him?" Ron pointed at George. "You don't even touch!"

Hermione's face bloomed into heat, sweltering and blazing up over her cheekbones and flooding into her hairline.

"We're _private_! We don't need to broadcast anything about!" Hermione hissed.

"You don't even hold hands. And you barely say hello or goodbye any differently than you do to Harry and I," Ron continued and Hermione felt herself grow more and more defensive as the seconds ticked past.

"Leave me out of it, mate," Harry commented from the side and George laughed.

"Would you prefer we be all over each other?" George posed to Ron who was taken aback by the bluntness of the question for a moment. Ron watched his brother as he pushed his chair back and stood up smoothly, plucking his bag from the floor next to him.

"Well, that's not what I-" he stuttered. "No, of course not-"

"Would it be more or less appealing to you if I greeted Hermione in a more dramatic fashion?" Hermione's eyes widened as he kept talking and started leaning down toward her. "Like this perhaps?"

She felt her lungs pull one last tiny gasp of breath into her chest before George's lips touched hers for the first time in weeks - in months - in years, in ages, in _eons_.

It was gentle, more gentle than she was expecting. _Tender_, even. And never before had she ever thought the word tender in conjunction with George Weasley. He was the sound of a firecracker and the heat of boiling kettle, the feel of potion ingredients between her fingers as she added a pinch of this and a sprinkle of that. He was an explosion and calloused hands and a bludger and –

Tender. Reverent. Yielding.

The tiny breath that she sucked in went whooshing right out of her, making her breathless in a heartbeat.

George plied her lips gently with his own, loosely and without force, making the feeling of anticipation wash up on the shores of her subconscious. Hermione was so used to the instant flare, the direct hit to her senses that this new and unusual sensation made her head spin in a different way. As he started to pull away, she felt her body try to follow after him, a breathless subtle surprised feeling settling into her bones.

"See you later," George rasped before turning to leave and disappearing behind a stack of books. Reality came rushing back belatedly and Hermione was unsure of where to look, dazed.

"Can you help us with Transfiguration now, or are you going to chase after him?" Harry asked a moment later.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron grumbled.

* * *

**Short, I know. That's for a few reasons.  
**

**1) I'm having a Christmas Card Extravaganza over on tumblr where I'm literally sending a card to every person who asks for one. The post should be near the top of my blog if you're interested. If you can't find it for some reason, you can search 'let's get festive'.**

**2) I just started another George/Hermione story here on fanfiction called 'Mercury in Retrograde', so check it out if you're so inclined and let me know what you think. So far there's been a lot of 'WHYYYYYYYYYY HAVE YOU DONE THIS, MY POOR BROKEN HEART' so be sure to register your opinion.**

**As always, thanks for all your support past, present and future. I normally respond to every review individually but life has been quite the clusterfuck recently, so just know that I appreciate each and every one of them. 3**

**Cheers!**


	29. Chapter 29

"Hey," Hermione's voice snagged George's attention and he looked up from his notebook. "You look like you're about to combust under such studious concentration. Mind letting up? It's painful to watch." She grinned and George laughed.

"Yeah," he sighed, leaning back in the armchair by the fire and stretching. "I've almost got it though. You know when you're just a hair away from solving something?"

"My hair _makes_ more problems than it solves, honestly," Hermione slid to the floor tiredly, dropping her head back onto the sofa behind her for a moment.

"I like your hair," George commented quietly, his eyes flicking over the brown tresses briefly before settling back on his papers.

"Thank you," she replied after a long pause, and George didn't dare look up even though he could feel her eyes on his forehead.

"Hermione, my dearest, my beloved," Fred interrupted. "Would you do me the most fantastic honour of accompanying me to Hogsmeade on Saturday?" The twin slid onto the sofa behind Hermione and set his chin on her shoulder. George felt something low in his stomach roll over and unfurl, and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

"Why don't you ask Angelina?" she questioned, remaining still.

_Leaning down and catching her lips with his – softly, carefully, tentatively – _

Their library kiss in front of Ron and Harry had been following his every step since the moment he had turned and walked away from the trio days ago. Up until that point, he and Hermione had not done more than test the spell by holding hands or fleeting touches since New Year's Eve when they got caught in the library at Grimmauld Place by all the other people celebrating. They had simultaneously and without communication, come to the conclusion that they would ignore _the kiss_ entirely, neither one acknowledging it having happened in the time since.

Before, when things were building between them and rather intense, it had felt like a whirlwind, a constant battle to retain one's wits in the face of this torturous magic. No, however, the moment between them felt more subdued but…

Deeper?

Like it was coming from a much more sincere place in them.

Despite the fact that they would have consumed each other in a flash of flames before, and quite sincerely too, it now felt as if they were the last cinders, glowing brightly just under the surface.

It was right confusing.

"Angelina's demanded a Quidditch practice, plus she's mad at me," Fred responded lightly, and George looked back up to gaze at Hermione again.

"Well, I'm sorry to say, Fred-" Hermione started but Fred flopped back dramatically.

"Hermione, why would you ever go to Hogsmeade with this plonker?" he gestured unseeingly at George who scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You're one to talk; your girlfriend is mad at you and won't go to Hogsmeade with you _on Valentine's Day_," George uttered.

"And _neither will yours_," Hermione stated factually, meeting his gaze pointedly.

"What?" George voiced, not really sure what was going to come out of her mouth next.

"I have plans already, so I can't go with either of you," Hermione hedged.

"What a sad day," Fred maligned. "Why must you do this to us?"

"Don't let Angie hear you say that," Lee appeared. "You hardly need help digging yourself another hole."

"I don't need help with _anything_," Fred popped back up, waggling his eyebrows but Lee was the only one to laugh. Hermione was gazing back at George, and he was trying to judge what exactly he ought to do.

Who was she going to Hogsmeade with?

* * *

Hermione hadn't told anyone, but she was hoping to arrange a meeting between Harry and Rita Skeeter, despite her reproach for the woman. Umbridge was making it impossible for anyone to speak about _anything_ important, and leveraging her knowledge of Skeeter's illegal Animagus status against her, Hermione was blackmailing her into interviewing Harry for the Quibbler and making his word public. The only opportunity for the interview was the Hogsmeade visit on Saturday, February 14th.

Conveniently, that particular detail allowed the issue of Valentine's Day activities to be completely circumvented. Hermione had been fretting over what exactly she ought to do about the overblown day. George had not asked her to Hogsmeade on a date, as couples were wont to do, because it was a cover, wasn't it? A needless cover considering the more intense aspects of the spell had fallen by the wayside and the ones that had replaced them were far more manageable on a daily basis. In comparison, they were a breeze.

"You already have plans?" George asked, and Fred and Lee tuned into the fact that there was an undercurrent, falling quiet.

"Yes, I do," she responded, knowing he would want to know what exactly would prevent her from them appearing like a happy couple, but also knowing she could not say. Not until the interview was done and there was no risk of anyone interfering. "You should have asked me into town sooner, shouldn't you?"

"George," Fred sighed, and both he and Lee shook their heads with grins.

"Rookie mistake," Lee commented and Hermione counted her sidestep as successful as George balled up a scrap of parchment and lobbed it at his friend.

She would tell him. Later.

Why she even felt like it was something she should justify was a mystery to her.

* * *

Saturday was blustery, and the students of Hogwarts bundled up tightly to brave the winter weather for an outing into town. George watched as groups met in the Entrance Hall before leaving through the oak front doors and following the trail down the hillside. Hermione left bright and early and _alone_, and George had watched the curls under her toque disappear as she passed behind some trees and out of sight.

There was nothing for it.

Fred and Lee were going into town briefly to stock up on Zonko's merchandise but George had been feeling like he was on the verge of cracking the last puzzle that was turning out to be the Patented Daydream Charms. He elected to stay at the castle and relocate to the abandoned classroom to work it out.

Dust motes floated freely, swirling carefully in and out of George's eyesight as he perched on a desk and surveyed his work over steepled fingers.

The answer was right in front of him, he was sure. He switched around the runes for 'contentment' and 'imagination', just as he and Hermione had latently discussed after she had discovered him in the old classroom.

George took the cuff of his cardigan to the board and redrew the order again. Scratching his ear with furrowed brows he gazed out the nearby window.

Hermione was out there down in town doing –

It didn't matter.

The sky was cloud-covered, though not dark or foreboding at all. Snow still graced the grounds in the places where the sun's fingertips couldn't quote touch and the evergreens swayed, dark green and shadowed. Snow that had crusted crunched, refrozen.

Refrozen.

Frozen.

George whipped around and mentally ran through the idea quickly. He couldn't see any potential complications with –

He whipped out his wand and cast the charm, adding on a section of a latent Freezing Charm and…

His limbs were heavy and weighing, sinking and being swallowed, a pleasant comforting pressure pushing in. Calming, slowing, sighing.

The classroom wavered and shivered in front of his hooded eyes and George closed them to steady his balance.

There was the distinct feeling of wind in his hair and fresh air on his face and for a brief moment he was _flying_ again, on his broom, free, out of the Quidditch pitch and _free_. It had been _so long_ since he had been out on the pitch, so long it felt like he might cry from the sheer happiness of it –

But he was still in the classroom on the seventh floor and his fingertips brushed the desk next to him without seeing it.

Hermione was so close to him now, the unfocused blurry smear of her eyelashes against her cheek flittering in and out of sharp focus. So close, and he tried to reach out but she looked up at him suddenly, wide brown eyes clear and intent, and he froze.

Hermione dissipated, or –

He thought she did but now she was brushing past him, unseeing, hair smudges of consecutive mahogany half-moons swinging at her back and the stone of the corridor was hazy and monochromatic and he was standing straight but felt like he ought to be crouching and –

Smudged Hermione stomped her foot and argued with an equally smeared Fred and Lee and a creeping sense of cold frozen dread trickled into his chest.

Was this real?

Was this an accurate memory?

Because - _  
_

"_Delinio tentigo_," he whispered aloud to himself, just as a pale pink jet of heat shot for Hermione's back, hitting her between the shoulder blades and _that couldn't be right_.

That wasn't the spell he had meant to cast.

_Delinio Temperantia_ had been the spell they had prepared not…

The dread solidified and George felt his limbs scream for oxygen but the haze was disappeared and dispersing and it wasn't until the last wisp of it had dissolved from sight that his lungs reengaged and he gasped raggedly. Realization was seeping into his consciousness and he needed – he needed to find Hermione because - she would be _furious_, of course, but they also might be able to find some _answers_ for once -

In a split second, he abandoned everything in the classroom – his bag, his notes, his board of calculations – and dashed out into the corridor beyond the secluded classroom.

His long legs carried his quickly, the speed of his steps making his hair whip back a little reminding him of the part of the daydream that had been flying and Quidditch –

It had worked! The Daydream Charm had worked! – But -

What a thing to see, what a _thing_ to see, how was he going to say –

_By the way you were completely right I fucked everything up it was all me and here's why_?

"Woah, where're you go -" Fred called after George as he rounded the corner into the Staircases and nearly ran straight into him.

"Hermione! Have you seen Hermione?" he called, wrenching his head around and looking back at Fred and Lee, arms laden with goods. His vision bounced and jostled as he kept going.

"She was near The Three Broom -"

"Thanks!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the portraits around them.

George dodged students, some still dressed in coats and mittens coming back from the village, some climbing the stairs in groups and he swore more than once while making his way down to the Entrance Hall.

His ribs ached and he pressed on, rounding another corner and spotting her speaking with a pair of fellow prefects and turned their way.

Hermione saw him coming over the older Gryffindor's shoulder and her eyes widened.

"Hermione -" he interrupted.

"Watch out, Isabelle -" Hermione warned the girl in front of her quickly.

There was a scuffling as George came to a sudden stop, chest heaving.

"What's going on, George? Why're you -"

"Sorry, Hill," George apologized shortly to the Slytherin prefect with a nod. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

His palm cupped Hermione's elbow as he steered her away with a quick grin to the other students and Hermione huffed.

"Where's the fire?" she snapped, pulling her toque from her head and scattering her hair haphazardly.

"I figured it out," George levelled his eyes with hers. "I figured out what went wrong."

* * *

**A/N: So I mean...**

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**Until next time xxx**


	30. Chapter 30

Her amber eyes widened roundly as her hair settled around her shoulders; she'd ripped off her hat, the wispy bits floating down more slowly.

"_What_?" she hissed, her hand flashing out and snagging his arm in a claw grip.

"I figured it out, I -" George motioned in the vague direction of the classroom he had just come from. "Well, I figured out the Daydream Charms _and then_ I saw what went wrong and it's – I'm so sorry, Hermione, I knew it was my fault, _of course_ it was -"

"_Tell me_," she urged. Her nose was still pink from the cold outside and her cheeks were red from the heat of the castle.

"I should've said -" he started.

"Delinio Temperantia," Hermione nodded impatiently, "yes I know. '_Calm, soothe, level out'_ and '_temperance, moderation'_ but what did you actually cast?"

"Delinio _Tentigo_," he supplied, feeling it settle heavily in the short distance between them. He didn't know what it meant and there was no immediate sign of epiphany for Hermione so he assumed she also didn't know.

"Tentigo," she whispered, her eyes unfocusing. "Tentigo…"

There were a few long beats of silence, slow like molasses and just as deep.

"I need a Latin dictionary," she started sharply, looking up at him suddenly. "Or a compendium, maybe…"

"Library, then?" George's eyebrows flew up into his hair.

"Yes," she answered him, before muttering to herself and shuffling her gloves between her hands, "and some medical texts as well – I wish the library had a muggle section – a Grey's Anatomy, perhaps."

"Shall I go with you?" George asked hurriedly as they started up back up the Grand Staircase at a swift pace.

"No -" shook her head in a distracted daze. "We need all of your notes, everything you had on the research for the spell – you go get that and meet me there, I'll start pulling books from the stacks and maybe – maybe we can find something, maybe -"

They raced up the stone steps as fast as possible, George taking them three at a time while Hermione's trainers fought to keep up. They separated on the third floor as Hermione made a sharp turn toward the library and George continued back up to the classroom on the seventh floor.

This was mad –

This was insane –

They might be able to solve the mystery now –

Things might be normal again.

Him and Hermione –

Well, that was nothing to think about now.

The right thing to do was find a solution by any means possible and end this nightmare.

Nightmare?

Not _quite_ a nightmare anymore.

Pushing thoughts of Hermione to the side, George thudded along the corridor and threw open the door.

"_There_ you are," Fred started, hopping off a table near the musty windows.

"I figured it out," George heaved.

"We see that, mate," Lee gestured to the board filled with his chalk scribbles and half formed theories related to Daydream Charms.

"No, I mean – well, yes I figured those out and they'll be brilliant, I mean, _absolutely fantastic_, I'm sure of it but I _meant_ I figured out what went wrong with the spell on Hermione and we're heading to library to figure it out."

He rushed to shuffle papers into a stack and stick them into his bag, followed shortly by every reference text he had strewn about in his effort to dissect and reassemble with precision.

"Hop along, Lee," Fred chirruped and they both jumped up and raced after George on his way back to the dorms. They flew around the corner and dashed though the portrait smoothly.

"We really might have an answer!" Lee huffed out.

"Never ever doing something like this again," Fred balked.

_They were ones to complain._

The Common Room was bustling, students having returned from the chilly village before the sun went down. The boys edged through the smaller bodies easily and hopped up the stairs to the seventh year dorm. George tore into their room and slammed around, grabbing the newer version of the textbook they had used and riffling around for any loose notes. All three descended from the tower again and ran back through the castle to the library.

Fred, George, and Lee slowed to a much more normal pace as they rounded Madam Pince's office windows. George led the way back to Hermione's favoured table along the southern edge, the windows showing a nearly-dark forest outline and a truly inky Black Lake. Hermione's things were tossed into a jumbled pile on one of the large tables and surrounding students looked up at their arrival.

"I'll go find her," George pulled his bag over his head and set it next to Hermione's quietly. "You guys wait here."

Using long strides, George made his way down the aisles, glancing around for her familiar curls and listening for the sound of her quickly pattering feet. Just when he was debating turning around and checking in the other direction, he spotted her down a short side rack filled with translation aides, dictionaries, and reference texts for just about anything a student might need for classes.

"Hi," he huffed, coming to a stop as she reached for a thick tome nearby.

"Hi," Hermione glanced up wildly. "Here, hold this, would you?" She dropped the book into George's hands. She moved farther down the aisle and scanned the rows, reaching out for a book that was slightly out of reach. Instead of pulling her wand out of the messy pile of hair perched on top of her head, Hermione used the very bottom shelf to boost her height and yank the textbook out of its home place. She thumped that one into his hands too before rounding the far corner and scurrying on to another aisle.

George followed her, heart pounding a loud and uncertain staccato in his head. When they returned to the table, Fred and Lee were leaning against the table and chatting lowly.

"Could you go and find anything on healing or… brain function?" Hermione asked. As they sped away, Hermione pulled one of the books from George's hand. "Did you bring that book we ordered months ago?"

"Yeah, it's just here," George slid into one of the seats and pulled it from his messenger bag. There was ruffling and shuffling and Hermione consulted multiple indexes and mouthed words to herself.

"Where is that root dictionary?"

He supplied it silently.

"T, t, t…" she whispered avidly, her eyes flicking over the text at light speed.

She stopped.

She read.

She sat back and sighed.

"It means libido. Or venery."

"I don't even know what that means in _English_," George commented, eager for an explanation.

"It's the gratification of sexual desire," she announced softly. "Which makes sense, _considering_."

George's thoughts slowed. They finally had confirmation. There was a _reason_, a logical _reason_ that all of this had happened to them. Granted it was his fault but – it was an answer! It was proof that they weren't imagining things. The answer was coming together.

* * *

"Here!" Lee huffed, handing Hermione a thick, dull-looking text and she wasted no time flipping that one open as well.

"Ohhh…" she breathed. "Oh it makes _sense_ now, it's… _How_ did you even manage to make a mistake so _perfect_ it worked perfectly by _happenstance_? What are the odds of that even being -"

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" George pressed.

"The anger spell would have been targeted for the amygdala, the part of the brain responsible for a few things, one of them being emotional reactions," she paused, looking up at the trio. "Like _anger_?"

"Right, and?" Fred prompted her.

"The part of the brain attraction is handled in is the prefrontal cortex, _located right in front of the amygdala_."

The boys remained silent, blinking.

"Don't you _see_?" Hermione shook her head exasperatedly.

"No, definitely not," Lee responded lightly.

"It means that the magic was modified by the mistake word in _just_ the right way to make it compatible with the inner workings of the '_delinio_' mechanics but – it was morphed into something not documented or certified in the medical field and it…"

"Anger and lust are essentially very close to each other in the human brain," Hermione dropped her chin to her hand slowly, looking off into the distance of the library. "'_The gratification of sexual desire_'…" she repeated under her breath.

"That means…" George turned to look at her and they met gazes for a brief moment before looking away.

They wouldn't be doing that.

But did that mean they would never find relief?

"So is there a solution?" Lee floundered, not grasping the small details that might lead him to an epiphany.

"How long did the original spell take to wear off?" Hermione asked suddenly, cutting off Lee's wonderings.

"About six months," George pulled the textbook toward himself to double check.

"So that means… February. This month." Hermione looked at him again. "I'm not feeling any fading. It's just the same."

"It seems different," Fred piped up and the pair looked across the table to him.

"What?" George asked, furrowing his brow gently.

"It _feels_ different now. I mean… I don't really know, do I? But it feels different since you 'got together'."

That was true. There had been a major shift when they had claimed each other and that couldn't be ignored. It had to be a large piece of the puzzle.

"'_Mine_'", they both said at the same time, and the invisible copper wire that bound them glowed like an ember for a moment before receding.

"Temperance. Self-control. Libido. Claiming. What does this all…" Hermione mused quietly for a moment.

"Claiming?" Fred sat up straighter. "Like a bond? You don't think -"

George jumped in his seat, nearly toppling off it.

"I thought that magic was _hard_ to do, not something that could happen by _accident_?"

"What's a bond?" Hermione asked, leaning in closer.

"Bonds are…" Fred hesitated. "They're really powerful magical contracts basically. Like, marriage bonds and familial bonds and… there's different kinds, and it's complex. Provoked and unprovoked, fulfilled and unfulfilled."

"It's stuff we're warned against tampering with because, well they can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing," George continued. "Sort of like Unbreakable Vows, they usually use some form of compulsion or strong motivation and if they aren't fulfilled they can cause problems…"

"A lot of old families used to use them for betrothals and blood debts and stuff. They're really easily abused for darker purposes and that's the reputation they've had since the so many for the Sacred Twenty-Eight families used them at one point or another.

"Old families? _Pureblood_ families?" Hermione asked quickly. Her mind jolted at the sudden realization.

Sirius had given her a book at the end of Christmas hols and it was called –

_The Traditions, Customs, and Practices of the British Pureblood Class_.

* * *

**A/N: I'm so glad to be back.  
**

**And we're starting to get answers.**

**Big shout out to Shayalonnie who's letting me borrow and make use of some cool things from Debt of Time that you may or may not have spotted.**

**THEORIES?**

**As always much love, and leave a review**


	31. Chapter 31

_The Traditions, Customs, and Practices of the British Pureblood Class_.

There was no way Sirius could have known, right? That was too much of a coincidence to be orchestrated.

Right?

"What, what is it?" Fred asked, looking at Hermione sharply.

"She's Granger-ing, hold on," George said more softly.

Hermione ignored them and –

Sirius was the last living heir of the Black family, meaning that Grimmauld Place was magically tied to him, this she knew. He had said, in that fight with Lupin, that he had _felt_ something change. She had assumed it was Lupin and Tonks being _mates_ but _what if_ –

What if what Remus had said about not even having _touched _Tonks was true – of course it was – and from what little Hermione knew about werewolf mates…

What if the feeling Sirius had gotten had been _her and George_ and whatever bond they had between them?

Sirius had given her the book. Knowingly? Maybe. If he had any suspicions, he might have.

He was a Marauder after all.

Hermione concluded, unintentionally, that wolfmates were a type of bond as well. A type of bond Sirius could feel against the wards of Grimmauld Place. A type of bond that was incontrovertible once the facts were laid out. A type of bond like _theirs_.

Hermione started scrambling around, pulling her wand from her hair with hardly a snag. The curls fell around her in a riot as she waved it and the library books they didn't need started back to their homes.

"What are you doing?" George asked, and Lee made a lunge for the book he and Fred had just fetched before it got out of reach.

"We don't need these anymore," Hermione explained while concentrating on pulling her bag out from under the rest. "What we need is in my dorm."

"Right, of course it is because _we were just there_," Fred widened his eyes sarcastically and tossed Lee his backpack. The group left the table before all the books had even found their way back and Madam Pince scowled at them as they left hastily.

The boys were tall and lean and athletic and they overtook Hermione's short legs in about two and half steps down the corridor. When they came to the first set of steps that would take them up four floors to the Tower, George stopped and waited for her, urging her to let him piggyback her so they could get there faster.

"I don't need your help, George!"

"Will you just get _on_? I'm much faster than you," George insisted, arms akimbo in the piggybacker position.

"I can do it _myself_," Hermione stressed, hopping up the stairs quickly and making to pass him.

Hermione saw George's arm whip out and snag her around the middle, and he easily picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. The breath was knocked out of her for a moment as Lee and Fred laughed a flight of steps up.

"Shut up, you two!" Hermione scolded, bouncing on George's shoulder as he bounded swiftly up the remaining stairs and rounded into the seventh floor corridor. "Okay, put me down now!"

"We're almost there, hold on," George laughed and sped with the boys toward the portrait.

"George!"

"Pesky Pixie!" they chorused to the Fat Lady, who barely blinked an eye at the group, Hermione's behind facing her rather than her face. They trampled through the portrait hole, Hermione being jostled a fair amount.

"George, put me down!" she near shrieked, reaching back to secure her skirt to the back of her thighs.

"You're so stubborn," George huffed, bending down to set her to rights.

"Hey!" came an incensed cry and all four Gryffindors looked around in alarm.

Ron was stalking toward them with a furiously confused look on his face and Hermione balked. They didn't have time for this. She needed to get up to her dorm and fetch that book and find out what the hell was going on –

"You dropped _this -_" Ron shoved a paper into George's chest forcefully and he raised a hand to clasp it and look down, realization spreading over his features. "Mind telling me what it's all about before I go to McGonagall?"

"Ron, it's not what you think," George hedged and Hermione frowned. She had never seen one of the twins backpedal so hard.

"It's not what I think? I mean, I'm not as brilliant as _Hermione_, but I can put two and two together, George!" Ron continued. Harry wandered over, purposefully hanging back out of the Weasley debate. Hermione and he watched as the gingers seemed to forget the crowd of the common room entirely.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, and George handed her the piece of paper without looking over at her.

She turned it over and spotted his familiar scrawl, easily recognizing it from the board of runes and theories, and the notes and homework she had seen him working on since they started spending more time in each other's company.

It looked like a page of initial notes on the spell the three seventh years had chosen to cast on her.

There was information and facts about the magic as well as her schedule and when to best set up a time to actually cast it.

"Oh Ron, this is absolutely the _worst_ time for you to -" Hermione started, wanting to wring his neck. Of course he would pick the _pinnacle_ moment to realize something was different between them and start putting two and two together.

"What's going on?"

Ginny had appeared nonchalantly but with a hesitant look in her eye. She raised her eyebrows expectantly at the group.

"I'll tell you what's going on!" Ron started. "Someone's been planning on spelling Hermione with some spell that _controls_ her and -"

"That's not what it was!" George protested.

"Well, it _was_," Hermione corrected. "But it's _fine_. And will you keep your voice _down_?"

"It's not fine, Hermione! Are you mad? Letting my brothers cast spells on you is a _horrible_ idea," Ron continued loudly.

"Oi!" the twins protested immediately.

"Yes, _alright_, but will you stop?" she snapped. "I don't need this right now, I need to get -"

"How about you explain everything?" Harry pitched in and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"This has nothing to do with you, Harry, and they look like they're in a rush –" Ginny tried to intervene.

"Well, it doesn't have much to do with _you_ either, but you're -" Harry snapped quickly.

"They're _my_ brothers!" Ginny shook her flaming head of hair, incensed.

This was turning into a complete pig's breakfast and Hermione cast her eyes up to the vaulted stone-carved rafters. She should just go while they were all fighting. Hermione turned sharply and made for the girls' dormitory door, ignoring the outcries the followed her.

"Hermione!" Ron called out as she took the first step into the spiral staircase.

She felt George follow after her silently, knowing that she was making for the book in her bunk.

"Oi! He's not allowed up there, _Prefect Granger_!" Ron continued heatedly.

"Oh, _shove it_, Ron!" she called back down to him, disappearing from view closely followed by George's tall frame. Just as Fred had appeared outside her door months ago, George tailed her without the typical reaction from the steps.

"Nice one," he laughed at her retort.

"Not a word from _you_ either," she mumbled, leading the way to the fifth year dorms.

"Right-o," came his dejected response.

"What a bloody _catastrophe_ this is," she continued.

Would everyone find out now? Would that mean George would get into some serious trouble?

Probably. Especially with Umbridge overseeing all punishments and expulsions.

Hermione didn't want to see him expelled.

Of course this whole Delinio Tempertantia thing could have been avoided if the twins had just _seen reason_ in September but… She hardly wanted to see them punished for it anymore. Particularly when…

Well they were so close to an answer now.

It would do more harm than good, wouldn't it, now that they were getting along and things had quietened down with _the thing_ between them.

And –

She quite liked spending time with them – _him_ –

A strangled growl fought its way out of her throat as they burst into her shared rooms, startling Lavender something fierce as she was braiding Parvati's long inky hair.

"Sorry," she threw in their direction.

"Hello, ladies," George sidled in suavely behind her and she ignored him.

Of course in the middle of all this chaos, when everything was building to a poignant resolution, she would start questioning her feelings towards him and whether or not he deserved punishment for his actions.

And meanwhile he was busy getting ready to chat up her roommates.

"Excuse us, if you don't mind," Hermione added on, hoping they would take the hint.

"You want us to leave?" Parvati frowned. "Oh – are you planning -"

"You didn't say you were dating!" Lavender squealed. "Of course we'll go, you need some privacy – Parvati!"

They girls fluttered around the dorm unproductively for a few long moments before leaving in a whirlwind and slamming the dorm door after themselves.

"Great," Hermione sighed, riffling through her bookshelf on a mission. "Now everyone thinks were shagging up here."

"Not the worst thing in the world, is it Granger?"

Hermione's face flooded with red and she kept her back to him.

"I wouldn't know, would I?" she snapped as a response. "A-_ha_!"

Hermione whipped the tome out from under a theoretical physics textbook her father had sent her last month and turned on the ball of her foot. She stumbled, nearly having walked right into George who had clearly been standing right behind her.

George caught her elbow and studied her pink face closely before Hermione pulled away and took two steps back from him. Ignoring the flash of hurt that flitted over George's features, she looked down and cracked the cover open, flipping to the table of contents.

"There's… There's different kinds of bonds," she listed. "I don't know which…"

"Is there an introduction? Might explain them in general?" George prompted and Hermione filled frantically.

"It says…" she trailed off while reading, her brain fighting to slot pieces together as fast as she could, hoping desperately that this would be an answer to their prayers. "It says bonds are prepared by emotions, provoked by actions, and sealed by intent."

* * *

George remained still.

_Bonds are prepared by emotions, provoked by actions, and sealed by intent._

"Okay," he breathed. "Break it down."

"Prepared by emotions. What was happening around the beginning of September?" Hermione looked up puzzled.

"We were busy with getting back to school and starting up the shop, and you were getting in our way. So…" George paused, trying to remember. "Anger, yours and ours."

"That hardly sounds like the preparation for _this_ kind of effect," Hermione motioned between them vaguely. "…Did you fancy me?"

"What's the next one?" George closed his eyes and pushed the image of September Hermione out of his mind, the one who stomped her foot in aggravation and made him laugh.

"Provoked by actions," she shook her head and hid behind the mane of hair in a mess around her.

"Casting the spell," George reasoned quickly, eager to move on.

"And sealed by intent," she finished quietly.

Both let the silence blanket the dorm while they thought about the last six months in detail.

"Maybe…" she spoke up, rising slowly. "Maybe the 'action' wasn't casting the spell. Maybe it was…"

"Was what?" George pressed.

He watched her eyes glaze and refocus, and noted latently that watching her work was a thing of wonder.

"_Maybe_ the 'action' was the – our first kiss?" Hermione suggested and George's breath slowed to a crawl in his chest making his head scream for oxygen.

The kiss in the hallway after he had been given a lifetime ban from Quidditch by Umbridge.

_Slanting his lips over hers, tumbling together into the alcove nearby, scrambling to get her jacket off, to get his hands on her skin –_

But that meant that the preparing and provoking the bond had _nothing_ to do with the spell.

What?

"That makes sense, but only if the bond isn't related to the mistake spell at all," Hermione echoed his thoughts, more to herself than to him.

They were hurtling forward together, grasping at straws trying to figure this out.

"And that would mean that the 'sealed by intent' was…"

His heart stopped dead.

"The library," she whispered, eyes comically wide.

"'_Mine'_," he quoted at the same time.

* * *

**A/N:**** I MEAN.  
**

**I STILL HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO AND THERE'S STILL STORY LEFT, NO ONE PANIC.**

**Maybe leave a review to motivate me to update maybe tomorrow who knows at this point.**

**xoxo**


	32. Chapter 32

"A sealed bond, oh Merlin," George breathed shakily into the silence, running his hands through his hair and settling on the edge of the nearest bed like a leaf blown in from the wind.

"I don't even know what that _means_," Hermione responded.

"It means mum is going to be _livid_," George groaned. "Can you look up the _kinds_ of bonds? I don't even know where this falls on the spectrum of bad to worse yet…"

Hermione felt the colour draining from her face. She had no idea what any of this meant but if George was this full of dread, it couldn't be good.

"There's… uhm, familial bonds between family and friends; there's servitude bonds, oh _disgusting_, those _poor_ elves," she commented, her face scrunching up at the information.

"Those are also commonly used in marriage ceremonies," George added. "Pureblood families detest rebellion so…"

"Oh my _god_," Hermione breathed, thinking of all the arranged marriages between members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight in the last few centuries alone. "And there's marital bonds."

"I don't even – No offense but I don't even want to think about that possibility. What's the last one?"

Hermione's stomach swooped low and turned, making her queasy. Marital bonds as in _marriage_? She couldn't be married.

Could she?

"The last one?" he prompted again.

"Soul bonds," she answered weakly. "You don't think…"

"I don't know _what_ to think, Granger."

* * *

"Well," Hermione hedged uneasily. "It's… not doing anything crazy now, right? Whatever stage we're dealing with. So maybe we just… carry on? Do more research and readings and figure out exactly what we're dealing with here before we go shouting about it?"

George's head still hung in his hands, his eyes closed to the dark grey slate of his eyelids.

"What are we going to tell _them_?" he inclined his head toward the door. They were all downstairs waiting, waiting for answers. More liabilities knowing, making it easier for an information leak.

"The truth," Hermione sighed. "They won't settle for anything less; you know they won't."

Harry and Ron, Hermione's closest friends who would do anything to protect her, and Fred and Lee, George's _twin_ and co-conspirator. And Ginny. There was no way any of them were going to settle for anything less than an entire retelling of the whole palaver.

When he followed her back down the stairs dejectedly, their voices were still close to the door and he chuckled at the conversation material, certain that Lavender and Parvati were wasting no time in planting the idea in everyone's heads.

"They'd better not be having sex up there," Ron said.

"They're _not_ having sex," the sound of Harry's eyes rolling could be heard in the lilt of his voice.

"They _might_ be having sex," Ginny came into view tilting her head in consideration of the theory.

"They're having sex," Fred and Lee chorused surely, nodding together.

"Oh my god," Hermione hopped down the last step with a paranoid hiss, "there-was-no-sex."

"Hermione, what exactly is going on here?" Harry ignored the tittering around the small group as she flushed pink under everyone's gaze. Third years from over in the nearest corner were watching them with sideways glances and Hermione was positive the elusive sixth years of the sofa were listening carefully to what they were saying.

"Can we do this somewhere more private?" she said lowly, eyebrows hiked up pointedly.

"It's past curfew," Harry stated and everyone shifted their gaze with suspicious looks. "_What_? I mean, if we don't _have_ to get in trouble…"

"Your dorm, then?" Hermione tilted her head to George. He and Fred nodded in sync and turned, leading the way for the rest to follow.

"So you should probably just listen without interrupting because there's a lot to catch you up on," Hermione sighed.

"Merlin help us," George muttered. "Nobody kill me."

"_Nobody _will be killing _anyone else_," Hermione stressed, looking pointedly at Ron and Harry.

"Wait, is there _cause_ to kill?" Harry looked up from the window suddenly.

George and Hermione explained everything to the group from the beginning of September through to recently discovered news of that very afternoon.

"So magical bonds have three steps; prepared by emotions, provoked by actions, and sealed by intent. If what we think is right, we prepared for this with emotions, we provoked it with a kiss and sealed it by claiming each other," Hermione spelled out.

"So that whole build up with the spell meant nothing? You didn't do anything with the spell? It was a dud?" Ginny's face was scrunched in concentration.

"But you said it was a '_perfect mistake_'. How could it be perfect and not work?" Harry asked bluntly.

"No it – it certainly worked," Hermione laughed nervously for a beat. "But it's faded now and – it may have played a _part_ in things but it certainly didn't do all the work."

"It was just – perfectly executed," George nodded.

"Exquisitely planned," Fred added.

"Horribly mistimed," Hermione finished darkly. "So we don't _really_ know what kind of bond it is but I can do more research, ask Sirius for more books…"

"Sirius knew this _whole time_ and didn't say anything?" Ginny gaped.

"I don't know; all I know is that he felt the magic against the wards around Grimmauld Place. _That_'sone of the major facts that convinces me this is a bond," Hermione reasoned.

"Yeah what else would be strong enough to make a _dent_ in the ancient blood wards that Sirius must have claim to?" Fred wondered aloud.

"Exactly," George pointed at him, nodding.

"So…" Ron took a breath, "you're _not_ dating, then, or you _are_?"

"Errr," Hermione and George glanced at each other. "We don't really have much figured out right now."

"Bit confusing," George laughed. "This whole _bond_ thing, if that's what it is. I don't really know if there's a _category_ for us…"

* * *

Silence fell as the group reflected on the massive load of information that had just been presented to them.

"So you have to fulfill this bond…?" Lee trailed off uncertainly. "Or is it fulfilled or sealed or whatever?"

"Technically sealed. But it's not really harming anyone now it's just sort of… there," Hermione tried to explain. "So I suppose… we'll just leave it for now?"

She looked over at George who nodded, deep in thought.

"So you're just going to live with it the rest of your lives?" Ginny asked, incredulous. Hermione looked over to see the small redhead with her mouth agape and her eyes wide. "You're not going to try and find a way to – to – fix it?"

"Of course I will," Hermione sighed. "But that likely means access to a pureblood library. I doubt the Hogwarts collection has all that much on bonds."

"We'll look anyway," Fred assured Ginny.

"Mum is going to combust something when she finds out," Ron commented offhandedly.

* * *

The very next afternoon after classes, Hermione visited the library and took out every book she could find that mentioned anything relating to bonds, magical ties, and possible pureblood traditions. Before leaving for supper, she bewitched them all to resemble texts on Ancient Runes.

Ron and Ginny appeared late, covered in mud, and supremely depressed about the upcoming Quidditch match.

"It was a nightmare," Ron groaned, sliding in next to Harry.

"Oh, come on," chiding Hermione weakly, "I'm sure it wasn't that -"

"Yes, it was," said Ginny. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

When Hermione and Harry returned to the Gryffindor Tower without Ron and Ginny, they were only sitting for a moment before Fred and George appeared.

"Ron and Ginny not here?" Fred asked quietly, setting a chair closer to the small table in front of them. "Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."

"Come on, Ginny's not bad," George reasoned fairly with more consideration as he took a seat beside Hermione on the sofa. "Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us…"

"She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking," Hermione piped up, shifting the stack of books around in her lap.

"Oh," George's eyebrows hiked in surprise. "Well – that'd explain it."

"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" she asked carefully, dreading the answer. Ron had been struggling and fretting and being generally irritable over Quidditch training and she knew that his mood only got worse if he made no saves yet again.

"Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," Fred tilted his head back and rolled his eyes dramatically. "So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday."

Hermione felt George shift and rise again, jiggling the couch a bit. He moved to the window to gaze out at the now dark night.

"You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for," he commented darkly and Hermione's face contorted.

"You've got exams coming!"

"Told you already, we're not fussed about N.E.W.T.s," Fred reiterated. "Those Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them. Lee put us onto it once night after detention…"

* * *

Hermione's face snapped to his again, stricken.

_Why_ did Fred have to mention their unwillingness to stay around much longer?

It was something George was avoiding thinking about too much and he wasn't too keen on the idea of bringing it up with Hermione, especially not before he had figured out how he felt – or what was even going on. He yawned widely, dodging her eyes and gazed out at the midnight dark sky again.

"I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself," he said dramatically, dropping onto the sofa a little farther away from Hermione.

"Kill him, more like," Fred grumbled.

"That's the trouble with Quidditch," Hermione's voice sounded tired. "It created all this bad feeling and tension between the Houses."

When she looked up at the boys around her, George saw the blush creep over her cheekbone as they all stared at her with incredulity.

"Well, it does! It's only a game, isn't it?"

George had managed a pass this time.

Maybe he could figure out a better way to tell her he wouldn't likely be staying until the end of the school year.

* * *

**A/N: Happy Easter to those who celebrate!  
**

**Oh goodness Hermione and George.**

**Leave me your thoughts!**

**xoxo**


	33. Chapter 33

The rest of February passed in a blur of chilly weather and the chaos Harry's interview with Rita Skeeter produced. Hermione was absolutely ecstatic about the popularity and immediate saturation of the article, and Umbridge did exactly as Hermione had predicted. She also spent a great deal of time reading up on bonds and anything relating to them.

"I haven't found anything we didn't already know," George said one afternoon.

"I haven't found much more," Hermione sighed, shutting another tome dejectedly. "All I've learned is that there's a Civil Bonds Department in the Ministry where marriages are registered. But I don't know if it's automatic like the list of magical children born by year or… something that you have to register yourself, like in the muggle world."

"I don't know," George commented. "Dad's never worked in that area so it's not something I'd have heard mentioned or had explained before."

"And _asking_ someone who would know would immediately alert them to something."

Hermione and George had been stoically ignoring any twinges or tingles between them successfully. They often sat together in the library or the Great Hall whether other friends were around or not, and the general populace seemed to accept the notion that they were dating quite easily, however fake or twisted the reasoning they knew to be behind it.

To Hermione, it felt like existing in a muffled bubble world between friends and something undefinably more; where she was never sure just how close to sit, never sure if she should apologize for bumping arms, never sure if she should offer a hug lest they both be reminded of the way things _used to be_.

Hermione wasn't the only one distracted by thought of the Ministry and rooms within it either; Harry's dreams of the Department of Mysteries were getting worse as his Occlumency progressed and Hermione was sure this was a bad sign.

One breezy morning Harry relayed to her a distressing dream about Voldemort, Avery, Rookwood and the Ministry worker Bode, who had been killed by the potted Devil's Snare.

"So that's why they killed him," she reasoned, looking away from Fred and George who were out in the courtyard across the way selling their perfected Headless Hats. "When Bode tried to steal this weapon, something funny happened to him. I think there must be defensive spells on it, or around it, to stop people from touching it. That's why he was in St. Mungo's, his brain had gone all funny and he couldn't talk. But remember what the Healer told us? He was recovering. And they couldn't risk him getting better, could they? I mean, the shock of whatever happened when he touched that weapon probably made the Imperius Curse lift. Once he'd gotten his voice back, he'd explain what he'd been doing, wouldn't he? They would have known he'd been sent to steal the weapon. Of course, it would have been easy for Lucius Malfoy to put a curse on him. Never out of the Ministry, is he?"

"He was even hanging around that day I had my hearing," Harry said. "In the – hang on… he was in the Department of Mysteries corridor that day! Your dad said he was probably trying to sneak down and find out what happened in my hearing, but what if -"

"Sturgis," Hermione gasped, her brain racing to fit pieces together with this new information.

"Sorry?" Ron frowned.

"Sturgis Podmore," she gasped again, more quietly. "Arrested for trying to get through a door. Lucius Malfoy got him too. I bet he did it the day you saw him there, Harry. Sturgis had Moody's Invisibility Cloak, right? So what if he was standing guard by the door, invisible, and Malfoy heard him move, or guessed he was there, or just did the Imperius Curse on the off chance that a guard was there? So when Sturgis next had an opportunity – probably when it was his turn on guard duty again – he tried to get into the department to steal the weapon for Voldemort – Ron, be quiet – but he got caught and sent to Azkaban…"

She shared a hard glance with Harry.

"And now Rookwood's told Voldemort how to get the weapon?"

"I didn't hear the whole conversation, but that's what it sounded like," said Harry. "Rookwood used to work there… Maybe Voldemort'll send Rookwood to do it?"

"But you shouldn't have seen this at all, Harry," Hermione sighed. All of the new pieces of information were revolutionary, but he still should have been able to sleep without seeing into Voldemort's mind.

Harry of course was not pleased with her opinion on the matter, and refused to speak to her for the rest of the afternoon. Hermione found that while she would rather he not ignore her on the whole, her brain was much more occupied with starting revision for O.W.L.s and sifting through the library for more information that might help her and George.

* * *

Things were very different following the explanation to their friends.

No one mentioned it again; it was still confusing, the status hadn't changed.

Hermione and George still felt the subtle pull at times, still needed to sit near to one another most days, but they hadn't found anything new to help them in any way. Everyone knew they were still reading everything they could get their hands on about anything related to bonds, but so far there had still been no real shocking developments.

March turned into a wet and windy April, the first day of the month being Fred and George's birthday. Instead of celebrating, they spent it camped out perfecting a formulation for some fireworks they had been working on for weeks. By the time the next D.A. meeting rolled around, Hermione gave him a surprised look when they turned up.

"I didn't think you three were still alive," she remarked lightly as the group around them murmured and chatted, Harry not having called the meeting to order yet.

"Ah, never fear," Fred laughed.

"I always fear when you've been _too_ occupied," she grimaced.

"You're just jealous," Lee grinned. "We're taking up all George's time and you're feeling deprived."

George shared a look with her before they rolled their eyes in tandem. He knew she spent most of her time ensconced in studying materials these days. They were both quite occupied with their own separate things and it seemed to be working just fine.

"We'll be doing Patronuses today!" Harry announced, and the room swelled with excitement. "So you all need to think and find thing, a memory, that makes you _really_ happy. Think about it… You probably won't get it right away…"

They practiced the wand movement and the incantation together as a group and George was shocked when a thick silvery mist came out of his wand on the first go. When he heard Hermione's startled cry from behind him, he turned, brows furrowed.

Hermione had also managed wisps of silver on her first try, thick and swirling around her.

"It's so _nice_," Lavender said, hushed, as she bent to touch the metallic shimmer as it eddied around her knees.

As the night wore on, other people started producing similar mist. Luna's was pure white with an iridescent shimmer, crystalline like frost. As George waved his wand and concentrated, he felt his chest contract and –

Dashing around him was sharp and playful fox, bounding around his shoulders and finding the highest point to perch from, which happened to be on top of the tallest bookcase. When Hermione's otter soared too close a moment later, the two silvery creatures tussled happily before dissipating and the crowd ooh'ed and ahh'ed. A laugh was easy to fall from his lips as he turned to find her; her cheeks were flushed pink with happiness and she was attempting the spell again with Parvati and Lavender waiting at her elbows eagerly. She looked up under his gaze and gave him a wide grin.

His chest contracted again.

"Hi, Dobby!" Harry voice was muffled. "What are you – what's wrong?"

The room darkened when the silver mists from throughout the room faded as people turned their attention to Harry's worried tone. George couldn't hear was the elf replied with.

"Umbridge?" Harry appeared again, and the crowd started at the name. "What about her? Dobby – she hasn't found out about this – about us – about the D.A.? Is she coming?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!" Dobby fought the urge to keep the secret he had been ordered to from the person he had been ordered to keep it from.

When Harry straightened, a shiver ran down George's back.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" he bellowed. "RUN!"

It was a mad shuffle to get to the door as thirty-odd pairs of feet dashed around and attempted to squeeze out at the same time.

"Harry, come on!" Hermione's shriek grated on his eardrums and his heart pounded loudly. He reached over and snagged her hand, pulling her along through the throng of bodies as she looked back to make sure Harry too was on his way out. Ron's head was off to the left, herding people and making sure everyone got out before he did.

The sconces throughout the castle were fading as curfew quickly approached and the darkness of the night started to seep into the corners of corridors. Lee flew down the hall in front of them and Fred was hot on their heels. The thundering of feet echoed around them off the stone as the rest of the D.A. members took off in all directions.

"We'll take the tapestry," Fred huffed, catching up. "You take the mirror?"

"Good luck!" Lee called as George and Hermione took a sharp turn and he pulled her behind him down a side staircase.

"Where are we going?" Hermione breathed heavily as he came to a stop at the bottom and peeked out around the edge of the doorway. Their hands were clasped tightly still, her palm clammy and nervous, his warm and encompassing.

The coast was clear and the pair hurried down the worn carpet runner.

"Just a bit further -"

As they approached the end of the hall, the sound of running footsteps and shouts came around the corner, close by.

"Check the library!"

"Pansy's caught one in the girls' lav!"

George threw out his hand to stop Hermione's momentum and they skidded to a halt just before the corner where they would undoubtedly run into a group of Slytherins on the prowl on behalf of Umbridge. In a split second, George was turning them into a small stuffy alcove behind an old tapestry. As the fabric fell back in place after them and Hermione and George panted as quietly as possible, the footsteps passed inches away.

George was acutely aware of how close they were standing, Hermione's warm moist breath gathering on the hollow of his throat. He was also aware of just how long it had been since the kiss he had given her in the library to shut Harry and Ron up.

His heart hammered heavily in his chest, filling his ears with the rushing pulsing sound of the blood in his veins. He leaned over, angling his ear around the stone and listening for any other approaching footsteps. He didn't get the chance to hear anything because Hermione leaned up closer, her fingertips brushing over the line of his jaw and into his hair. By the time she pressed a kiss to his lips a moment later, his hands were pulling her body against his, craving closeness and friction. Her fingers fisted and he groaned into her mouth when the sharp sting in his scalp trickled down his spine. She was gasping, _grasping_, pulling him down to her mouth hotly and he was hiking her closer – _higher_ – pressing her into the wall close at her back.

Hermione's leg was hooked over his hip and his hand, his fingers, were clutching at the flesh of her behind under the elastic of her underwear. The tips of his fingers could feel the hot dampness just inches away and as he pulled her up his body, she gasped loudly.

They had not touched since New Years' Eve, really.

When he ground the front of his trousers into the warmth between her legs, she nearly lost her grip on his shoulders. George grunted, caught her weight and pressed her even harder against the stone behind her. Shifting and wiggling, his fingers finally made contact with the slick skin at her core and brushed the length of her with tolerable difficulty.

"_Unnnnngh_."

The groan he pulled from Hermione's throat when he circled the hard nub there made his eyes roll back in his skull and his hips skip forward. George's chest vibrated lowly and it took him a considerably amount of time to realize that it wasn't for any reason other than the growl low in his throat. George was hard against her, the grinding of their bodies driving him to the brink of madness with want.

"Please," she breathed heavily right into his ear.

George shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling painfully.

"Please?" George echoed.

"Yes – oh, _please -_" Hermione moaned, doing her best to circle her hips and thrust against his fingers.

"More?" he asked, barely a whisper.

"_More_," she confirmed desperately.

George hooked her underwear and pulled it aside. The front of his pants was sure to be damp and sticky after but he didn't care; he pressed close again and Hermione's head cracked back against the stone as she gasped in delight.

"More, more, _more_," she chanted to the ceiling in a whisper as she pushed against him rhythmically.

"I don't have much more," George heaved a laugh, his control breaking.

It was pitch black but he didn't need light to know her head was thrown back in ecstasy and her cheeks were flushed with want. The skin of her chest would be pink with exertion and her inner thighs were slick and slippery.

All for him.

"George, skin!" she demanded and he felt his balls tighten at the sound of his name on her lips.

He didn't question her. He didn't pause to think. He just unzipped as best he could and pressed the hot hard length of himself against her cunt with a stuttering groan. Hermione's noises were strangled, the sounds caught in her throat, but she shifted her hips purposefully and the head of his cock sunk right into place. Inch by inch he slid deeper, slowly, _slowly_, until he had given Hermione every bit he could.

George froze.

His chest constricted and it felt like he couldn't breathe.

This was –

They couldn't –

Hermione was going to be so _mad_ at him for taking it too far –

"Oh, _fuck -_" she groaned.

But she didn't sound mad at all, she sounded like she was -

"Please, George, _please_, go -"

George moved.

He pulled back a fraction of an inch before sinking into her again. And again. And _again_.

It was quite possibly the best feeling he had ever experienced. Having Hermione hiked over his forearms with her legs stretched wide for him, no clothing inhibiting his ability to thrust into her until his balls slapped tightly against her skin.

Hermione's muscles were drawn tightly, her ligaments taut, her limbs curling around him.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," he chanted, his legs shaking underneath them, just barely holding it together.

Suddenly she was tipping her head down and using his shirt to muffle her screams. The sharp sting of her incisors on his shoulder and the tight clinching spasms of her around him and –

George was coming, he was about to come, there was no way he could stop it now as Hermione shuddered and cried out and shivered gratingly against him. He was coming, he was –

"_Fuck_," he gritted out half a second before –

No outside stimuli were registering, just a gentle distant buzz in his ear, in his cranium, in his head. Hermione was shaking and George gradually became aware of his heavy breathing in the crook of her neck, his forehead pressed tightly to her shoulder and his cheek against her chest.

Hermione's heart was racing but slowing gently as he listened to it.

George felt like he was positively _floating_ despite the groaning protest of his joints under his and Hermione's combined weight. As things gently came back into focus, the smothering silence outside was reassuring. Hopefully they wouldn't emerge to the disapproving face of Delores Umbridge.

Hermione's fingers ghosted along his forehead, trailing against the damp hair there and he raised his head wobbily from her skin. His eyes raked through the darkness but he could only make out the faint silhouette of her cheek and shoulder. She tilted his head up with the lightest of pressures and pressed her lips to his once more.

* * *

**A/N: OKAY. SOME THINGS MAYBE HAPPENED THIS CHAPTER HUH? BET YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING THAT. Or maybe you were idk.  
**

**So I've had quite a few panicked messages from people, and reviews, mentioning how it feels like 1) the story is speeding up and 2) it feels like it's getting closer to the end. All of this is true. The story is speeding up, things are being figured out, and we all know what happens at the end of OoTP. There is still story left to be told, and Things Will Happen. But fair warning, there's likely less than ten chapters left. **

**Leave me a review!**


	34. Chapter 34

The moments they spent behind the tapestry after coming down from their respective orgasms were tender, silent in a comforting way. How, Hermione couldn't be sure, seeing as it had been a frenzy of panic and fear and nerves that had hastily converted into heat and passion fizzing between them.

The Gryffindor Common Room was abuzz with activity when Hermione and George made it back to the tower. Those moments flew from their minds as the portrait closed behind them.

"Harry -"

"He's not back yet, no one's seen him!"

"I can't _believe -_"

"How did you get back?" Fred appeared, Lee directly behind him.

"We took the third floor all the way around and snuck up behind the Charms corridor. Nearly got caught again by Filch just around the corner," George answered. He steered Hermione through the crowd, his hand warm on her lower back.

Hermione was glancing around, hoping to catch sight of Ron, but not finding him. Faces turned to her as she passed, asking a flurry of questions.

"Hermione, do you know what's happened?"

"Are we all going to get in trouble?"

"My mum is going to be so mad -"

"Are you insane? That Umbridge woman is _way_ worse than mum -"

Her brain was foggy from panic overload and Hermione nudged through the crowd until she found a chair to clamber up on. The students who were part of the D.A. turned and fell quiet quickly, and the ones who had no idea why a large group of classmates ranging from first to seventh year had all just come back panting and clucking like a group of riled hens.

"No, I don't know what's happened, but as soon as we figure it out we'll let you know!"

When she dropped back down to the ground nimbly, she found George and Fred with their heads together, Lee listening in closely to whatever they were hastily discussing.

"But you've _known_ this was coming," Fred's voice was faint with the clattering of people around her as she approached.

"I know that, Fred," George's face was going pink, "but things are different."

* * *

_By Order of _

_The Ministry of Magic_

_Delores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight._

Harry had returned quite late the night before, finding Ron and Hermione kipped on the sofa waiting for him. By the light of the dying embers, he had informed the pair of Umbridge and Fudge, Marietta, Fawkes, and everything that had gone down in Dumbledore's office the night before.

Hermione couldn't believe the turn things had taken.

Umbridge had finally managed to push Dumbledore out of his own school and Hermione would have been surprised if the new decree had not been waiting on the notice board first thing the next morning. Of course, one thing she hadn't seen coming was the creation of the Inquisitorial Squad, which was largely made up of Umbridge-supporting Slytherins who had the newly-acquired power of House Point deduction.

"Noticed, have you?" Fred's voice made her turn automatically as the trio surveyed the House Point jewel levels.

George and Fred joined them, the mood sombre.

"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," Harry simmered hotly.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," George said with a sympathetic nod.

"What do you mean, 'tried'?" Ron beat Hermione to asking.

"He never managed to get all the words out," answered Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"But you'll get into terrible trouble!"

What were they thinking creating such mischief in a time like this? Umbridge would surely have their heads on a silver platter.

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," Fred shrugged. "Anyway… we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" Hermione quipped, and George gave her a crooked grin that made her heart thump out of beat.

"'Course we have," he continued, as pink spread across her cheeks. "Never been expelled, have we?"

"We've always known where to draw the line." Fred's eyes glittered.

"We have put a toe across it occasionally." George gave an inconsequential head shake.

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem."

"But now?" Ron asked, brows furrowed.

"Well, now -" started George, and Hermione's stomach knotted up at the look on his face.

"- what with Dumbledore gone -" Fred leaned in a tad closer.

"- we reckon a bit of mayhem -" George's voice dropped lower and Hermione's shoulders tensed.

"- is exactly what our dear new Head deserves."

"You mustn't!" Hermione hissed, her stomach in her throat now. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" said Fred, giving her a weak smile in anticlimax. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now is we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway," he looked down at his watch and Hermione's eyes remained on Fred, refusing to meet the stare she could see George had fixed her with. "Phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will _see_ you can't have had anything to do with it."

"Anything to do with what?" Hermione wrung her fingers delicately, still remaining fixed in Fred. Anxiety twisted in her gut and wild visions of their possible crazy antics flitted before her eyes. They were going to get themselves arrested or – or –

"You'll see," George stated firmly. "Run along, now."

The twins left shortly and Hermione tried to still her racing mind. She couldn't stop them from doing anything if they really had their minds set on it.

"I think we _should_ get out of here, you know. Just in case…" she added, and they made to move for the Great Hall. The hunger she had been feeling towards the end of morning classes had disappeared. Dejectedly, she supposed she would still need to eat something.

"The headmistress would like to see you, Potter," Filch appeared out of the crowd, taking the trio by surprise.

"I didn't do it," Harry protested automatically.

"Guilty conscience, eh?" he wheezed. "Follow me…"

Harry glanced back at them, but there was nothing to do but let him follow after the decrepit caretaker.

"That can't be good," Ron said under his breath as they watched Harry's retreating back worriedly.

"I'm going to be so glad when this year is over," Hermione sighed, raising a hand to rub circles on her temple.

Ron and Hermione sat quietly, tensely meeting each other's eyes every few minutes and alternating between trying to eat, and looking over their shoulders at the Entrance Hall for any indication of what the twins might be up to somewhere else in the castle.

_BOOM._

Hermione startled in her seat, reaching out to steady her goblet of juice on instinct.

"You don't think…" Ron trailed off, craning his neck to see over the heads at their table.

Their thoughts were confirmed the moment they saw a pair of firework foxes dash and spring into the Great Hall, followed by whizzing pinwheels and explosions of twinkling lights.

Despite the immediate chaos that broke loose, Hermione grinned.

* * *

Hermione near tackled him in the Gryffindor Common Room later that night.

"They were wonderful fireworks!" she declared, eyes bright with admiration that made his insides flare up.

"Thanks," he remarked, pleasantly surprised, catching her delicately around the waist. "Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we're going to have to start again from scratch now…"

"It was worth it, though," said Fred, who was standing at the head of the pre-order line with a clipboard and a massively pleased grin. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe…"

"I don't need to get on the waiting list," she quipped. "I have an in with the inventors."

"More like he has an in with you," Fred bantered, causing Hermione to flush crimson in a half-second. She rounded on George who quickly held up his hands in surrender.

"I didn't tell him," he hissed. "It was a coincidence."

"What was a coincidence?" Lee probed from nearby.

"_Does_ he have an in with you?" Fred looked puzzled before a light went off. "Oh. _Oh._"

"How was it?" Lee asked eagerly, fumbling with his enthusiasm as Hermione cut a glare in his direction. "I mean, because of the – uhhhh – you know, _the thing_, not because I wanted to know – it's – oh bugger. I'll just…"

"This seems like a great time," Hermione turned back and looked up at him, eyes still bright, "to have a word with you."

"I haven't done anything," George commented and grinned secretly at her responding scoff. She was already walking away from the group in the direction of the portrait and he shoved his hands in his pockets before following after her. She led him to the familiar classroom down the corridor, leaving the door open for him to shut after he had entered.

"So you're leaving."

She said it as a statement and George's face fell immediately. The cheer and excitement and riled up laughter of the day collapsed in on itself as he stood with his back to the closed door and surveyed her.

Hermione was sitting on the desk nearest a set of windows, refusing to look up at him. She just kept her eyes on her bare knees as she swung her feet gently under the desk and ran a fingertip along the edge of her skirt.

"It's…" George started, feeling everything well up between them unexpectedly.

They hadn't spoken about things, about plans, about anything serious since discovering what they had about the possible bond.

"I don't want you to go," Hermione confessed.

It hung in the air, still and clear and crisp, the edges both sharp against his resolve and soft against his chest.

"I can't stay," he answered painfully.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, eyes still downcast. "It's Hogwarts, it's _safe_ here -"

"You know as well as I do that it's _not_ safe here, not with that _bloody tyrant_ overseeing everything and reporting back to the Ministry. Have you forgotten the scars on the back of my hand?" George asked, hating the fact that she always required answers.

"But you could stay, just to finish school," Hermione countered.

"School isn't important anymore, Hermione," George sighed. "Fighting is important; _surviving_ is important."

"You could do that _here_, that's what I'm saying -"

"No we can't." George closed his eyes. "Not when our Dad is risking his life protecting something from Voldemort or when Lupin is infiltrating werewolf packs. Not when Sirius is going so completely mad in his childhood home. We _have_ to help, Hermione – we're of age. As long as Voldemort is out there, none of us is safe – anywhere."

George finished, his voice ringing with certainty and conviction in empty room. He felt his heart wrench and twist under his ribs as the silence stretched on and Hermione still refused to look up at him.

Her hair was a curly tangled mess piled on top of her head, wisps of it wild around her temples and jaw. Her cheeks were faintly pink from what he could see… The outline, the silhouette, of her nose and chin – her brow – so familiar to him. He tried to memorize it so that he could take it with him.

Would they feel the distance between him when they left? Would they feel any sort of residual twinge? Would there be evidence to prove that there was still something at work here, or would everything be as silent and quiet as it had been since they'd…

Even from across the room George could smell her faint perfume in the air, and he wondered as his heart contracted tightly as the thought of not having it about daily, if all this meant something.

"When?"

When George looked up at the sound of her voice, he met her stare with surprised relief that quickly sombred.

"Soon."

* * *

**A/N: HI.  
**

**So this story fucks me up and gives me all the feels. **

**Anyway, we're getting closer tot he end, just another reminder. **

**There's still story left.**

**Sorry the wait was so long.**

**Leave a review!**


	35. Chapter 35

"_Soon."_

George's words replayed over and over in her mind as she lay in bed, trying to switch it off and go to sleep. No sooner had she managed to close her eyes and finally block out his voice, two of the twins' fireworks collided outside the Tower with a gargantuan bang.

Startled awake, veins thrumming with adrenaline, Hermione sighed despondently.

They didn't want to stay at Hogwarts and she didn't blame then. Umbridge was a horrible witch of a woman who seemed to have it out for a large majority of people Hermione held dear.

But of course, they were their own people and Hermione couldn't _stop_ them from leaving if they had their minds set on it – much as she would like to be able to have some sort of effect on their decision. It was not for her to decide, though.

Her and George were…

Well, nothing official, really. People assumed they were still 'dating' and on the whole it made things much easier not having to come up with excuses for their combined presences but –

They weren't really dating. They weren't really _together_. They were stuck in this _in between_ phase of "what are we?" where neither one had brought it up specifically and they both seemed content to ignore it for the time being.

Hermione, of course, wanted clarity but she feared that if she brought it up directly, she would get an answer she still didn't want to hear.

They were still going to leave Hogwarts eventually.

Would it really be the best course of action to lay her whole heart out for him only to be told that it hadn't changed his mind about leaving? To open up her insides and show him plainly that she didn't want him to go, that she wanted him to hold her again, that she had finally concluded that she wanted something _real_ with him? It complicated things, _every_thing.

It sounded unlikely considering the happenings since September but it was the truth. She couldn't deny it to herself any longer. She may not be able to say it out loud but she knew from the sinking in her stomach and the complete paralysis after he had told her outright that they were planning on leaving that she -

And she wouldn't say a thing to him.

* * *

"But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?" Hermione asked Harry the next day, a frown pulling at her eyebrows.

It was the first day of Easter hols which meant she had parchment and class syllabuses spread out around her as she drew up detailed study schedules for Harry, Ron, and herself. She tapped her wand on the most recent box she had scrawled in before looking up at him.

"I've _told_ you," he answered wearily, "Snape reckons I an carry on by myself now I've got the basics…"

Hermione remained skeptical. After years of discerning just what percentage of truth the boys were trying to convince her of, she knew when there was a fib afoot.

"So you've stopped having funny dreams?" she pressed, lips pressing back together and eyes darting over the angle of her dark friend's brow for any indication of a lie.

"Pretty much," Harry responded, avoiding looking at her.

"Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!" she announced indignantly. "Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask -"

"No," he said with more force than she had expected. "Just drop it, Hermione, okay?"

With an imperceptible sigh, Hermione shut her mouth and went back to fastidiously organizing the next six weeks of their lives. She, of course, had started revising slowly at Christmas. This was O.W.L. year, for Merlin's sake. They should have been working on it throughout the last few months! But of course, she hadn't mentioned it enough and they had completely disregarded that their entire futures relied on the results of their testing at the end of the year.

As usual.

"I can't believe there's only six weeks left," Ron groaned from his face down position across from her.

"How can that come as a shock?" she continued without pause, tapping again to finish off his revision schedule.

"I dunno…" he responded, "there's been a lot going on…"

Which was true, of course, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Well, there you are," she slid the parchment toward him and he sat up, looking quite depressed at the notion of following a schedule for studying. "If you follow that you should do fine."

As his eyes ghosted over her scribbles, Ron's eyes lit up unexpectedly.

"You've given me an evening off each week!"

"That's for Quidditch practice," she explained evenly.

The smile faded from his face in a millisecond.

"What's the point? We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming the Minister of Magic…"

Hermione didn't respond but instead looked over at Harry again, who was staring unfocused at the wall behind her. Crookshanks was trying to get his attention but he was completely absorbed in his thoughts.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked. He quickly reached for the nearest book and opened it at random.

"What? Nothing…"

She was worried she was still having his dreams. There was a reason Voldemort was thinking of these things and if he _knew_ Harry could see them too he might try to lure him into doing something otherwise uncalled for. Fretting would do no good, but no matter how often she told herself not to worry, it was like hitting her head against a brick wall.

* * *

Easter hols passed in a flurry of fifth and seventh years making many trips to and from the library to prepare for exams.

Except for Fred and George.

The twins had been busy working on their last big hurrah project, eagerly awaiting the look on Umbridge's face when she saw what they were concocting.

"If you add any more of that rutabaga, you're going to burn a hole in the floor," Fred commented offhandedly to George as he stood over the large vat cauldron. Panicked, George immediately put the jar down and tucked his hands into his pockets. "So you really haven't told her what we're making?"

"She hasn't asked," George evaded.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't tell her," Fred scoffed.

"Why? So she can be mad at me?" George asked flippantly.

"That never stopped you from ticking her off before," Fred reasoned fairly and George felt the need to grunt and whip around, turning his back on his twin.

"Yeah, well…"

There was silence after his errant dismissal of Fred's words and the other ginger let it hang there, undefined for a few long moments.

"So you slept with her," he stated bluntly.

More silence.

"Didn't you?" he pressed.

"Yes," George answered shortly.

"So how'd that change the bond?" he asked.

George had been thinking about the bond every day since he and Hermione had had sex behind the tapestry while on the run from the Inquisitorial Squad. That had been the only time, and since then he barely felt any tingles or pull toward Hermione. They hadn't discussed it. They just knew it wasn't completely gone.

"We hardly – there's almost nothing now," he answered briefly.

"Well, that's good!" Fred exclaimed. "That way you won't go crazy when we leave," he continued knowingly and George continued to avoid eye contact. "And poor Hermione, right before exams too… It's much better this way."

"I suppose," George responded, his heart sinking.

How was he going to be able to leave her now?

Of course luck would have it – the bond was fading now making it easier to leave and _of course_ he would start having actual feelings for her. There was no catching a break.

"I think this magnificent display of magic is about ready to be unleashed on the populace, George," Fred announced.

Later, the boys returned to the common room and spotted the trio hastily. The desks and tables had been flooded with career pamphlets in preparation for career advice for the fifth years in the first week back to term.

"…You could to it, Hermione!" Harry was saying, waving a booklet on Curse Breaking around.

"I don't much fancy banking," the witch replied, distracted and concentrating on a Security Troll Training Program Coordinator pamphlet.

"Hey," he said quietly as they approached.

"Ginny's had a word with us about you," Fred tipped his head in Harry's direction. He sat down and propped his feet up on the corner of the table casually. "She says you need to talk to Sirius?"

George avoided looking at Hermione, for he was sure Harry had not consulted her on this.

"What?" her head of crazy hair snapped up, loose tendrils floating belated behind the sudden movement.

"Yeah…" Harry hedged, "yeah, I thought I'd like -"

"Don't be so ridiculous," she interrupted, bewildered with this turn of events. "With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?" she leant forward, her voice hushing.

"Well, we think we can find a way around that," George piped up, and Hermione fixed him with a look so potent he thought he might shrivel up on the spot. George shifted and stretched, trying to throw of her glare. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"

"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" continued Fred with a stoic face. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."

He paused to give Hermione a little nod of acknowledgement which she pressed her lips together over before he continued.

"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred gave a sharp nod. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?"

Hermione's cheeks were reddening, and George could feel a tirade coming on, reminding him much of the Hermione back from September. His stomach tightened awkwardly and he looked away.

"Yes, but _still_," she pressed on. "Even if you _do_ cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?"

"Umbridge's office," Harry uttered lowly, causing everyone but Hermione to lean in closer. She, on the other hand, tipped her head back a fraction in exasperation, her point clearly falling on deaf ears.

"Are – you – insane?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Ron - who had yet to lodge his opinion either way on the matter - put the pamphlet he was holding down carefully.

"I don't think so," Harry bristled slightly, trying to play it off smoothly.

"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?" she questioned him sharply.

"Sirius' knife?

"Excuse me?"

The twins watched this back and forth with practiced ease, the idea taking root in the minds at the table and their opinions being expressed.

"Christmas before last, Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock," said Harry. "So even if she's bewitched the door so _Alohamora_ won't work, which I bet she has -"

"What do you think about this?" Hermione rounded on Ron and Fred snorted. Hermione sent him an indignant glare before setting her eyes on Ron again.

"I dunno," his little brother shrugged. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," Fred slapped his back with enthusiasm. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact is everybody's in the corridors – Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office – I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?"

Fred looked at George to confer.

"Easy." George nodded enthusiastically. Umbridge was in for a truly difficult obstacle.

"What sort of diversion is it?" Ron couldn't help asking.

"You'll see, little bro," Fred answered as both twins stood.

"At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow."

* * *

_Tomorrow_.

Hermione found in incredibly difficult to sleep after hearing that the twins would be pulling something dangerous under Umbridge's nose and that Harry would be using the opportunity to sneak into her office and use her floo.

It was too risky in her opinion.

Someone was going to get caught.

This was insanity.

The woman was just _looking_ for reasons to expel them, to punish them, to make them suffer. They hardly needed to provide her with any ammunition as it was. This was unwise; it made her stomach turn and roil and burn.

Sleep was elusive, and when she finally did find it, she dreamt of her friends, or Harry and Ron and George and Fred and all of them getting kicked out of Hogwarts, all of them being exposed and unsafe and unprotected. At least inside the walls sf the castle they were safe from the war that was beginning to rage outside the grounds. Out in the real world were _death_ was a more certain and pressing possibility, especially because of their connection to Harry and the Order.

Harry spent the day distracted from classes with his own thoughts and trying to ignore her stream of cautions that didn't seem to be making a dent in his resolve one bit.

"Hermione," Ron finally interrupted in their early afternoon History of Magic class, "are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take notes instead?"

"You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!" she hissed back with poison.

She knew her attempts to get Harry's attention and convince to drop this ridiculous plan were falling on deaf ears, but still she felt herself growing more and more desperate as five o'clock drew nearer. By the time they entered the Potions classroom, both boys were refusing to speak to her.

"Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!" Hermione pressed as the bell rang at the end of the day. The desperation in her voice was clear but Harry remain stoic. Ron was refusing to look at either of them or give his advice or opinion, for once. Hermione made to open her mouth again but the ginger finally spoke up.

"Give it a rest, okay? He can make up his own mind."

Hermione shut her mouth a moment later, as they were streaming out into the corridor with the rest of the class, when the castle shook and the typical kerfuffle in the halls turned on its ear. Sure enough, off in the distance they heard some yelling and thumping, the stone amplifying the noise.

The unambiguously obvious sounds of a distraction.

Umbridge came pelting out of her classroom and raced through the startled students flowing more slowly as the moments passed.

"Harry – please!" Hermione last ditch attempt slipped out, not even half-convincing.

But Harry was already going, rucksack bouncing on his shoulders as he quickly disappeared.

"Feels a bit top-secret, doesn't it?" Ron asked.

"What?" Hermione snapped her head around to look at him as they flowed along quickly, following the crowd towards the centre of chaos. Hermione was dreading the amount of trouble the twins were getting themselves into that very moment.

Ron didn't answer; They continued hurrying down the stairs with everyone else, eyes wide and necks craning. They knew by now that Harry would be in Umbridge's office with his head in the fire, summoning Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

By the time they rounded into the second floor corridor in the East Wing, all hell had broken loose. Students of all houses were congregated and marvelling, many of them covered head to toe in the very substance they were ogling.

Professors were standing by in groups of two or three, none making any moves to help Umbridge and Flinch try to contain the gloopy, gelatinous mess that was spreading, occasionally herding children out of the way of the newest swampy development. Umbridge was screeching at Filch, and the pair was ineffectively trying to keep the mess back.

"Oh my -" Hermione voice was cut short when she tugged firmly by her upper arm into an alcove, the crowd and Ron disappearing from her view in a heartbeat.

"Hey – what do you think you're -" she started to protest, to yank her arm away whoever had accosted her in the mayhem.

"I don't have much time," George's face appeared a second later under the faint light of his wand held between them.

"Until what?" Hermione demanded, confused and irritated.

"Until we leave."

Her heart stopped.

"You're leaving?" she questioned, her breath rushing from her chest with a whoosh. In half a second he had turned her silently distraught.

"We have to," George nodded. "This is it. We can't sit by anymore – not now that we're of age, not while our parents are out there fighting, not while the Order -"

"Shhh!" Hermione startled, her hand flying up to silence him.

Her blood was sill rushing in her ears, her brain fighting to turn everything over in her head, to understand –

"You're leaving?" she asked again, more quietly and less shocked this time.

"We have to," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

Hermione stared up at him with wide eyes, simultaneously not comprehending what was happening and racing to find something to say that would keep him from going, keep him from leaving, keep him with _her_.

"But you'll be safe here -"

"You don't know that!" Hermione protested, yanking her arm out of his grasp after her shocked and confused stint.

"You'll be _safer_, then, if you stay here then if you leave the castle," George continued.

"And I'm supposed to be _okay_ with you leaving now?" she threw back and George's heart sank.

"I don't – I didn't expect you to be _anything_ about it. I tried to tell you, Hermione, I tried to tell you it would be soon -"

"I didn't think it would be _this_ soon!"

George fell silent and she felt the prickle of tears at her waterline start.

She couldn't even think of the words to say, couldn't make heads or tales of it, couldn't figure out which path forward was the best way, because nothing made sense anymore Nothing _all year_ had made sense but she knew that him leaving wasn't something she wanted, whether or not she could say the reasons for that to his face or not.

He was leaving her.

* * *

People were stampeding around outside, just beyond the reaches of the alcove cover and the noise of it was filling his head.

George watched as Hermione's face flittered with emotions quickly before shutting down entirely. Her eyes looked particularly glossy in the light emanating from his wand tip and suddenly he felt much more hollow than he had expected to feel.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "But we'll be fine, we've got a plan, we aren't stupid."

"I beg to differ," she responded. He should have expected that.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," he stated. A beat passed and he saw something in her face crack as he lowered his wand, getting ready to slip back out into the crowd. In the darkness she seized him tightly by his rumpled uniform collar and pressed her lips to his chastely.

He wiped her salty, wordless goodbye from his cheeks a minute later. George looked back over his shoulder when he reached bend in the hall.

She hadn't followed him.


	36. Chapter 36

By the time Hermione made it down to where the crowd had gathered to see the twins and their dramatic departure, they were already on their brooms and kicking off the ground.

Hermione stared after them, the crowd of students around her cheering and screaming and whooping happily. Her brain was silent, frozen, stalled. There was nothing else to think about. There was nothing left to figure out. There was nothing left to reason over.

He was leaving. He had left.

She felt at a loss; this last year at school had been full of complex strategy, whether it be to deal with Umbridge and the Ministry at Hogwarts, about how to stay under the radar, about how to gather a large group of students illegally. About how to deal with the situation with George. About how to keep it a secret. About how to tell people. About how her feelings had changed.

For the first time in months and months, her brain came to a standstill.

"Are you alright?"

She turned her head to find Ginny at her elbow, cheeks flushed and eyes dancing with joy at her brothers' antics. No doubt she helped them pull it all off, though Hermione could hardly blame her for it.

Hermione didn't answer right away and Ginny's eyes darted over her face with concern.

"You look pale, like you're in shock."

Hermione raised her fingers to her cheeks to find them cold. There was an odd buzzing in her limbs and she couldn't seem to settle her mind into its normal calm.

"I know things are complicated with George – I don't really know where you guys stand with each other theses days. But I'm sure it's weird to see him leave anyway," Ginny pressed.

At the word 'leave', Hermione felt her eyes start to grow watery, and Ginny's pause left enough time for a miniscule amount of tears to gather on her waterline. The redhead spotted it instantly, as if she was waiting for it, and she clucked her tongue softly.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

And the floodgates opened.

* * *

The Burrow was quiet when they touched down in Devon, their knuckles dry and cracked from the broom ride home. The whole way, all George could think about was the heartrending looking on Hermione's face, and how it had almost been enough to change his mind; well it _was_ enough to change his mind. He didn't want to go; he had to. This had been their plan all along. This was bigger than some accidental magic, than some accidental bonding that they had provoked unknowingly.

The big picture was that they were not in pain when separated anymore.

The even bigger picture was that Voldemort was out there, actively planning to take Harry and the Order down and Fred and him, they were of age. That evil bastard had already almost killed his father and there was absolutely no way he would allow anything of the sort to happen again while he was able to do something.

This was what it was all about.

Of course he would miss Hermione. His heart was still heavy from having to leave her and his was sure the feeling would never fully leave.

Thinking back to September, he could hardly believe the things that had changed in the time since.

"Are you sure we should visit mum first? Wouldn't you rather go to Diagon Alley and start setting up shop?" Fred reasoned jovially as they made their way up the slight incline in the backyard with nimble feet.

"And risk her _completely_ beheading us when she finally finds us? Nah mate, I'd rather have an afterlife more like Nearly-Headless Nick. Not worth the risk," George answered with a hollow chuckle.

Fred sighed, clambering up the back steps in front of his twin. George braced himself and followed after him.

"Mum! We're home!"

The bottom floor was empty, windows throw open for the spring breeze. They stopped in the middle of the sitting room, listening. There was a few beats of silence before Mum appeared at the top of the nearest flight of stairs, mouth open in shock.

"Hi Mum!" they chorused, and George felt a genuine grin split across his face warmly for the first time since leaving Hogwarts with a bang.

"What – how are you – _Fred_ – _George Weasley_!"

"At your service, madam," Fred bowed low and George laughed.

"What are you – _Arthur! _Arthur, get down here!"

Oh boy. At least it would be over soon.

"This is _preposterous_! You're going to be expelled – you can't just _leave_ school – what were you _thinking _-"

She was scrambling down the stairs as fast as she could go, and a moment later Dad appeared, his long legs carrying him much faster. He caught up with her quickly and they descended the rest of the way into the sitting room. Dad's face was emotionless and blank, and his wand was discretely at his side.

When he raised it, Mum looked at him, shocked.

"Not another word, Molly."

She remained where she was, mouth a thin tight line.

Dad took one more step, his wand levelled at them. Fred was still grinning but George had sombred in the moments since their parents had appeared. Silence filled the space between everyone as George watched the gears in Dad's head turn and ratchet quickly.

"When we went to pick Harry up from his Aunt and Uncle's house a few years ago, what happened?" he was looking directly at George.

"We ended up stuck behind their electric fire and you blasted it across the room."

"And what did you drop?" his eyes flitted to Fred.

"A Ton-Tongue Toffee, which worked perfectly, didn't it Dad?" Fred gave him a facetious wink despite the fact that their father's wand tip was mere inches from his abdomen.

"What did you take back with you?" he asked George another question.

"Harry's trunk."

"And you?" he questioned Fred once more.

"One less Ton-Tongue Toffee."

All the tension from Dad's shoulders and neck melted as he sagged happily, pulling the boys in close. The embrace was all shoulders and elbows and ribs and as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"Now that he's sure you're _you_, would you mind filling your mother in on _why you're not at school_?" she growled.

"Well," Fred started.

"We decided our time was better spent working on other things," George finished.

"What could be more important than finishing your _education_?!" Mum threw her hands up before anchoring them to her hips once more.

"You _were_ nearly done," Dad piped up from where he was sinking into one of their old comfy recliners.

"Graduating Hogwarts will hardly matter if the Wizarding World goes down in flames under the control of Voldemort," Fred scoffed.

"Or Umbridge for that matter," George added, and the twins nodded at each other, satisfied by their answer.

"Arthur!" Mum turned to Dad.

"Molly?" he questioned, at a loss.

"They're _your_ sons! Fix this!"

"To be quite honest Molly, I'm surprised it's taken the, _this_ long to leave considering they came of age over a month ago."

Their parents continued to squabble lightly, Fred and George looked at each other briefly. George wanted desperately to get out of his school uniform for the last time, and he could tell that Fred wanted the very same. They were both thankful to be able to say goodbye to the scratchy hand-me-down wool garments.

"- But what will you _do_?" Mum turned to them again mid-discussion with Dad and they grinned widely.

"We have plans, Mum, don't worry," Fred announced secretively.

"What exactly does that mean, young man?" she continued, eyes squinted tightly.

"We've rented a premises in Diagon Alley and we're opening a shop," George answered, and her ire flew to him in a flash.

"A _shop_? How can you afford a _shop_? What kind of shop? Merlin have mercy on you – you had better not be opening a bloody _joke_ shop!"

Mum was still cross, but Dad was trying to keep his lips in a tight straight line, refusing to crack and grin at his sons' audacity.

"Well, we are, Mum. We just stopped in to let you know we were dead -"

"Because the school is probably going to owl you saying some fantastical things -"

"Like how we exploded a swamp all over the east wing -"

"And summoned our brooms from Umbridge's office -"

"And exclaimed that every other student should do their duty and make her life a living hell after we left -"

"Might mention destruction of school property -"

"Or public misconduct -"

"Gross misconduct, probably -"

"Wrongful appropriation of confiscated property -"

"And it's all true, mind you -"

"But we thought we should let you know we were still alive and safe -"

"Before we pop over to the shop and get going on setting up -"

"Summer hols are just around the corner -"

"And we want to be fully functional by the time students get out -"

"The first few years of a new business are critical to its survival -"

"And we aim to succeed in every way -"

"Time waits for no man -"

"So we better be going."

"I. Don't. Think. So," Mum squared her shoulders. "You're staying and you're explaining everything."

* * *

**A/N: HI I KNOW IT'S BEEN AWHILE.  
**

**Life is settling down finally now that I'm done school and have an actual job and am closer to being a responsible adult so I'm trying to work writing back into my daily/weekly schedule. I want to finish this up because we're at the tail end, as I've been saying for awhile. I know this was a shorter chapter but sometimes you just have to publish what you have and hope for encouraging feedback to motivate you to carry on. **

**Now that the twins have left school, things will speed up a bit and you all know what's coming in regards to canon.**

**Leave a review and let me know what you think! What you hope will happen/what you're dreading happening. All the things. **

**Until next time (which will be soon).**

**xoxo**


	37. Chapter 37

George and Fred worked tirelessly on the shop premises to get it prepared for the grand opening. It hadn't been in bad shape when they had officially signed the papers and taken possession of the place, but it was no where near what their vision dictated it would look like in the end.

They kept the whole thing under wraps.

Not a soul outside of Mum and Dad knew what was under the great white barrier they placed over the whole building, like a sheet, to keep nosy people out – it was magically enhanced of course, to keep everyone out for certain.

They received owl upon owl, starting from the time they were trying to get ready for bed that first night after leaving, and they still continued to trickle in weeks later. The students of Hogwarts were essentially ready to canonize them and make them the holy saints of mischief at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They had a back log of orders, a veritable _pile_ of order forms waiting for them to begin production again, just as soon as they got the shop finished and stocked.

The money Harry had given them after the Triwizard Tournament had run out long ago, but luckily their wise investing and profits from the Skiving Snackboxes had given them a healthy cushion on which to restart from the ground up.

"We need to start buying the essentials and getting production going again," George was looking at a sheaf of parchment intently.

"I'm aware," Fred chirruped, surveying the effect his most recent magical transformation had on the lower level.

Silence passed between them as they continued with their own tasks.

"I wish Hermione was here to give us a hand," Fred commented quietly.

"Do you think we have enough in the budget to hire help right away?" George asked, pretending his gut hadn't tightened at the mention of her name.

"Do you think we can stop ignoring how you're miserable even though were getting exactly what we've always wanted?" Fred countered lightly, his eyebrows now raised.

"No." George went back to his calculations stubbornly and a moment later set everything down again. "I think we have enough in the budget. We out to advertise and interview for help."

"Agreed."

The subject was dropped.

Though Fred never pressed – which was odd and frankly surprising – the one mention of Hermione every once in a while was enough to have him in knots.

She was still back in that castle, under the supervision of Delores Umbridge, along with their little brother and sister, and Harry and Lee and every other innocent person she could ever hope to pray upon.

He knew he couldn't owl Hermione; not only wouldn't any correspondence be likely to reach her, but by association she would undoubtedly suffer. As if he needed to give Umbridge any more reason to target Hermione. She was already best friends with Harry Potter; she didn't need help putting yet another bullseye on her back.

She was probably too busy studying for O.W.L.s to be concerned with thoughts of him anyway.

"I'm going to go post an add in the Prophet, I think," he commented later that afternoon before making his way out the front door and lifting the cover, shielding the place from public view. His wand remained loosely gripped, the warmth of it nestled familiarly in the hollow of this palm. He had a feeling –

Which turned out to be correct. There, across Diagon Alley as usual these days, sat a Death Eater. Today it was Corban Yaxley.

"All right, Yax?" George asked as he passed by, disgust roiling up at the sight of the man.

"Fuck off," he commented back without lifting his eyes from his paper to the twin.

Voldemort had obviously got wind of their actions and, as predicted, hadn't been able to make sense of them. But as he assumed that anything done by any known member of the Order and by extension their loved ones was a secret move he had to counter, he had ordered the twins shop to be put on 24-hour surveillance.

Fred and George had figured it out in almost no time and no neither side my any effort to conceal the fact that they knew what was going on.

They kept the shop under tight wraps and protections and the Death Eaters continued to insist upon sitting in the café across from them hoping for a glimpse of anything they might be able to report back to the Big Bad himself.

Stalemate, as he would call it.

He was really looking forward to the looks on their faces when the Grand Opening revealed that it was a _joke shop_ all along, and had literally nothing to do with the Order of the Phoenix at all.

In the meantime, they were happy to provide any distraction that might split the opposing side's concentration and give the Order an edge. It was, however, disconcerting to be in such close proximity to a number of Death Eaters on a daily basis.

When Mum had found out, she had completely flipped and insisted that the Order put them under protection which they ultimately refused. They accepted help with the protection charms and any advice the more experienced members had to offer about keeping themselves safe in Diagon Alley under the watchful eye of such malicious people but they maintained their stance that nothing was going to stop them opening their shop, not even bloody Voldemort himself.

* * *

"Verity Spencer, what an unexpected surprise," Fred extended his hand to take the one of the blonde girl in front of them.

"A delightful shock," George nodded earnestly.

"A veritable wonder, I'm sure," she responded. "You are aware of the Death Eaters spying on you under the guise of them just really adoring the ice cream shop across the way, yeah?" she motioned vaguely behind her to Dolohov who was making no effort to blend in, as usual.

"Quite, yes," Fred nodded solemnly.

"Though we're certainly pleased you managed to spot that as well," George remarked happily.

"They're unfortunately part of the day-to-day around here, until they realize what's actually under the sheet…" Fred continued in explanation.

"What _is_ under here? You didn't say what you needed help for in the ad…" Verity wondered aloud.

"Come on in," George held the barrier back for a moment and Verity slipped under his arm without hesitation.

She had been in Gryffindor, a year above the twins. She was entirely familiar with their antics and she had still shown up for the interview. All a good sign, in his books.

Even though they knew her, it was still essential to know whether or not they could trust her, and while Fred showed her around the shop and explained what they were looking for, George got tea ready, quietly slipping some veritaserum into her mug. He, of course, felt guilty about this, but it was necessary. They needed someone trustworthy enough that they might well be in the Order with them; they couldn't risk the chance that Verity even _sympathized_ with Voldemort's cause. It must be done.

"Here we are," George announced, setting the tea and mugs down. Fred and Verity took the cue and joined him on stools at the front desk.

"So what exactly would you need me to do?" she asked immediately, adding sugar to her mug and stirring slowly.

"Well," Fred started, following after her actions, "we're looking for someone to be another set of hands around here, who can help us order ingredients, possibly pick them up from distributors, who can learn the business and hold down the fort quite well once we open."

"Being able to rally a crowd is probably a good skill," George mentioned, watching her carefully. "Keeping one's head under pressure – its likely to be a mad house, you see."

Verity nodded, sipping her tea and looking around the empty shop once more. The twins let the silence settle between the three of them.

"Well, I think I can do that," she nodded again. "And I'm sure you've give me veritaserum, so if you had any questions, you should probably ask."

They remained quiet, a bit taken off guard.

"Well, if I was you two, that's what I'd have done. That's all," she elaborated, seemingly unconcerned. She even took another large gulp of tea while holding eye contact.

Fred started laughing.

"I think you'll be a great fit here, Verity," George commented.

"We did put veritaserum in that," he motioned to her mug as she set it down, "but as you said, it's for a good reason."

"So? What do you need to know?" she cut straight to the heart of the matter.

"We need to know if you're affiliated with Voldemort or the Death Eaters in any way, if you're trustworthy to have around the business…"

"No affiliation. Don't agree with their views. I'm a half-blood, my mother is a muggle-born. The whole concept of blood purity is outrageous considering she's one of the most talented witches I've ever met," she stated.

* * *

She hadn't heard from him.

In the weeks that followed, Hermione tried her very hardest not to think about Fred or George – _mainly George_ – but it didn't seem to get any easier as time passed. There was no lasting tug in her chest at his absence, not like before Christmas when she had felt the distinct lack of his presence nearby. All was quiet and silent, if you counted a regular year at Hogwarts 'quiet and silent'.

O.W.L.s were approaching quickly and she would be damned if she let a _boy_ cloud her thoughts and disrupt her studying schedule. Occasionally she happened upon the fleeting thought that her dedication to studying every day and hardly leaving a moment of free time to have thoughts not related to schoolwork and exams was merely a coping mechanism for dealing with –

But she quickly dismissed the idea, and threw herself back into her work again.

Her name was Hermione Granger and she was going to score the highest number of O.W.L.s of any student to ever pass through the Entrance Hall.

Ginny tried time and time again to get her to talk about it, about _him_, but she couldn't. Harry was still having nightmares, Voldemort and the Death Eaters were out there growing stronger by the day, and she was more and more convinced that she would have to take some very drastic measures _sooner_ rather than later in order to keep her parents safe from the war.

A distressing thought.

On top of all that, Umbridge was even more determined to sack Hagrid, who had recently revealed the existence of Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother who had he brought back with him fro his mission over the summer. The giant was currently living inside the Black Forest and the knowledge of that had very nearly brought her to heart palpitations; if Umbridge found out, Hagrid was sure to be gone, though it didn't even look like Hagrid would make it to the end of the year at the rate the pink witch was going. If Hagrid got carted off before the end of term, who was going to look after Grawp? _Them_.

They were already under such strict surveillance. How would they ever manage to sneak out of the castle and into the woods unseen and unnoticed on a _regular basis_? Surely they had built up enough experience over the yeas to make a few successful trips but –

She hardly wanted to tempt fate at this point.

As well as those worries, she was sure that Harry was having nightmares still. Ron confirmed it one day as she was needling him at breakfast, and upon finding out, Hermione asked Harry what was going on. As usual, Harry gave the impression of blurring the truth when he assured her he was practicing Occlumency on his own every day since Snape had refused to teach him anymore.

Revision started in classes as professors did what they could to help their students prepare for the Ministry-regulated Exams. Hermione, of course, had been revising for O.W.L.s all year, going over every note she had taken from first year on.

She silently admitted that this seemed hardly necessary but nonetheless she made sure she had prepared herself to the very best of her ability. By the time the professors had started the reviewing in the second to last week of term, Hermione had caught everything up to current. She spent the revision time going over a carefully curated list for each subject of topics that would most likely show up on exam sections both written and practical.

"How many hours do you think you're doing a day?" Ernie Macmillan asked the trio before their second Herbology class into revisions.

"I dunno, a few…" Ron was uninterested in being interrogated, his eyes bleary in the morning light. He had been un studying late into the night like every other fifth and seventh year she knew.

"More of less than eight?" Ernie pushed. His eyes too were ringed with circles and red, bloodshot.

"Less, I s'pose," replied Ron, taken aback when he actually set his eyes on the Hufflepuff.

"I'm doing eight. Eight or nine. I'm getting an hour in before breakfast every…" he prattled on.

Harry was nodding along pretending to listen, and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion he hadn't realized that his eyes were closed the whole time they had been standing in front of the Greenhouse waiting for Professor Sprout.

She tuned Ernie out and began a mental list of all vine-type plants they had covered, in chronological order from first to fifth year. Counting them on her fingers as she did, she double checked it against the study sheet she had made the night before when she hadn't been able to sleep, mind preoccupied with worrying about George, out in the real world.

* * *

"I still think it's wrong that you're here," Molly huffed as she slammed around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place after an Order meeting.

"We know you do, mum, but we'll have to agree to disagree," Fred remarked, his voice flat.

They were exhausted of this conversation – lecture really -about how they were –

"Still too young," she carried on. "You're hardly out of school – _early_, I'll remind you, incomplete educations - "

George rolled his eyes and returned to the dining room to see who was around to chat.

"- And then we'll upgrade their security wards," Kingsley was saying.

"Who's available to go with them after they arrive at the platform?" Lupin asked, reached for a parchment nearby. "Looks like I am – though it's close to the full moon, probably not a great idea, I wouldn't want to scare them," he chuckled.

"Scare who?" George rejoined them.

"The Grangers," Kingsley replied, his voice rumbling with a chuckle.

"Oh," he responded dumbly, the shock of her last name creeping over his skin and making him extremely uncomfortable.

"We want to update and refresh their wards, just as a precaution," Lupin continued, scanning down the list. "Tonks might be able to -"

"I can do it," he spit out, heart hammering.

They hadn't really discussed when they would likely be seeing each other next and the thought of her teary eyes in a semi-darkness made the knife in his gut turn and rotate painfully.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, how much trouble could that be?" he sighed.

"Speaking of trouble, how's the shop and the help?" Kings inquired.

"Both great, haven't had any trouble. Death Eaters out front as usual but it doesn't even faze Verity. She practices with one of us just about every day, she's a tough little sprite," George commented, laughing.

"She reminds me of Gin, real scrappy when it gets down to it," Fred shook his head and rubbed his forearm where George knew the blonde girl had managed to scorch him good the day before.

They had made sure Verity felt completely comfortable working for them considering that there was always the possibility that something could happen. The Death Eaters might decide one day to try and get in, or use her to get it, or any number of things, and they weren't willing to put someone in that position without them knowing the risks and being prepared should that not scare them off. As a precaution, they had all trained together, somewhat like the D.A., making sure each was as nimble as could be in case they were forced to defend themselves.

So far, Verity had managed to leave them most lasting wounds on them, something that was both a pain in the ass to deal with in regards to scar cream application and a blessing because she able to hold her own quite well.

He hoped…

He hoped Hermione was still practicing, was still keeping Harry and Ron in line. He hoped they would make it to the end of the year without creating any more hassle for themselves but on the other hand he also hoped that they were making life a living hell for Umbridge.

* * *

"Granger, Hermione."

She was shaking by the time her name was called for their first practical exam on Monday afternoon. The Charms theory exam had been that morning and she was positive she scored quite well. She had answered every single question and been reviewing her work and adding to her answer of the short-form question on Cheering Charms when time had run out.

"Professor Clifford is free, Miss Granger," Professor Flitwick motioned toward a slender greying woman on the left.

"Let's get started, my dear," she announced. "If you would please…"

The woman took her through several demonstrations, making scratchy little marks on the parchment she had at hand.

"You have lovely wandwork, Miss Granger. Very fluid," she commented absently as she made a few last notations. "Is there anything else you would like to add? Is there a Charm you're particularly fond of?" she suggested.

"Oh!" Hermione didn't think she would get any opportunity to pick her own charm to demonstrate. "I hadn't thought that was – uhm, sorry -"

"Whatever comes to mind, dear."

Hermione blundered about her memory, trying to snatch an idea up quickly. She raised her wand.

"_Expecto patronum!_" she cast with determination.

The silver mist flowed from the end of her wand, producing a much smaller animal than she had expected. Her sea otter was nowhere to found and instead –

There was a lithe little fox trotting around her heels that paused before hopping up on a nearby desk and perching there expectantly.

"Oh, well done!" the Professor exclaimed. "Very well done indeed, Miss Granger. I should expect you would do well at anything you decided to do after Hogwarts if Charms is involved, certainly."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all your lovely reviews that continue to come in for this fic. I think I'll be writing the end over the next week or two and then posting the last few chapter much closer together. I'd like to have this marked as complete before Halloween.  
**

**I can't thank you enough for sticking around with me.**

**Leave a review!**

**xoxo**


	38. Chapter 38

George's decision to reinforce the Granger's home wards occupied his mind frequently, and eventually his twin was fed up with listening to his intermittent comments on the subject.

"If you _really_ think it ought to be done now, why don't you just tell Dumbledore you're going to do it before Hermione gets home, as opposed to after?"

"He might think it's… weird? I don't know, Fred!" George responded in a huff.

"Merlin, George, just go do it. You'll feel loads better and I won't have to listen to you harp on. You're almost as bad as Hermione…"

George scowled at his twin before making the decision to write to the Grangers and see if there was a time in the near future where he could come over and renew and reinforce their protection. Remus had told him that the Grangers were very nice people, and very accepting of Hermione's world and friends. They knew the basics of what was going on in the magical world, and while they worried for her safety often, they respected her right to chose where to spend her time and energy. They reminded her often to be safe and cautious, doing their best to parent a magical child who lived in a world much different from the one they had grown up in, but were very proud of her for the stand she was taking; they had, after all, raised her to be a compassionate human being that fought for injustices such as the ones she was passionate about. They were also incredibly grateful to the Order for keeping her safe, and lending their talents to keep them personally out of danger to the best of their abilities.

* * *

The only person Hermione knew of whose patronus had ever changed was Tonks, and she had plenty of reason to believe that it was out of unrequited love.

The moment Hermione acknowledged that fact, after she had walked numbly back to the common room and ascended the stairs to her dorm, the floodwaters broke.

There was no use denying it any longer.

Try as she might, her entire being had accepted her feelings _except_ for her conscious brain. Her magic had accepted it, her subconscious had welcomed it, and her heart ached in understanding.

Things were so very different to what they had been in September, weren't they?

She couldn't do anything about it now but busy herself in her studies. She hardy had time to wallow in her tears and sadness and confusion. It was O.W.L.s season and she had work to do. Hermione found herself remaining rather quiet in the days that followed, her nagging of Harry and Ron slowing to a crawl.

She often made detours to the loo on their trips from the library to the Great Hall to the common room, in order to shed a few pent up tears and relieve some stress. The boys were just happy she wasn't nagging them anymore, and so they left her largely alone, hoping to extend the grace period a little longer.

Friday finally arrived, and Hermione prayed that she would make it through her Ancient Runes exam in one piece so that she could sequester herself in her dorm and forget about trying to look okay and act okay when she was far, far from it.

Unfortunately, the exam went okay except for one glaringly obvious mistake that she could not shake. She returned to the common room in a horrible mood, but she hardly had the patience and clarity to control herself. She was at the utter end of her patience between not sleeping enough, trying to study more, not eating enough…

"How were the runes?" Ron asked innocently, yawning and stretching his limbs languidly.

"I mistranslated 'ehwaz'," she bit out harshly. "It means 'partnership' not 'defense', I mixed it up with 'eihwaz'."

"Ah well," he started, rolling his eyes and Hermione's blood boiled close to the brim. "That's just one mistake, isn't it, you'll get -"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "It could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another niffler in Umbridge's office, I don't know how they got it through that new door, but I just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off – by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg -"

"Good," chorused the boys, and she fixed a glare on them.

"It is _not_ good! She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember?" she could feel her voice starting to take on that annoying high pitch shriek she detested so much and she tried to reign it in. "And we do _not_ want Hagrid chucked out!"

"He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him," dismissed Harry and she seethed.

"Oh you're so _naïve_ sometimes, Harry, you really think Umbridge will wait for proof?"

Fed up, Hermione turned on her heel and stomped her way up to the girls' dorms, slamming the door behind her as she went.

The moment she reached her own dorm, hot angry tears started to run down her cheeks and she sunk to the floor.

* * *

"It's lovely to meet you," the petite woman greeted him. She had a clarity about her that George immediately recognized from spending so much time with Hermione. She was eloquent and precise with her words and whip sharp, he could tell upon first setting eyes on her. Hermione had inherited her small upturned nose and the freckles smattered across the tops of her cheeks. He hadn't known what to expect of course but the fact that she _also_ looked quite a lot like her father was more of a shock. From him, she received the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled widely, and the squaring of her shoulders.

It was odd to see these features in other people; he had come to love those parts of her and it was unsettling to know now where exactly they came from.

"And you," he nodded, shaking both of their hands firmly. "I understand you have a variety of charms and wards on your house -"

"Though don't ask us to name them," Mr. Granger laughed jovially. "Hermione always corrects us, you see, when we say them wrong."

"Ah," George nodded knowingly. "She has a way with correcting people, doesn't she?"

"You're a friend of hers, then?" her mother inquired, inviting him over the threshold and leading him down a hall and into the kitchen. Her father shut the door behind him and followed the pair into the back part of the house.

"We went to school together, yes. Ron is my younger brother," he offered by way of explaining how he had come to know Hermione, his cheeks darkening.

That made it sound so simple, and he supposed that's how it had been in the beginning and for years after meeting her.

But it felt dishonest now, in a way that he hadn't expected. It felt just as bad as a lie, downplaying their relationship – whether friendly and platonic as it had been or… what it was by the time he'd left Hogwarts.

"Ah, yes," her father nodded again. "Now, this may sound odd but we hardly ever get the opportunity to ask about these things, you see, and Hermione never talks about them much – you know how she is -"

"Robert," Hermione's mother scolded, shaking her head and turning to fill the kettle.

George was perplexed and he looked back to the man for an explanation.

"Helen," he countered. "This is a perfect opportunity, darling, to ask someone who might _know_."

"What is it?" George pressed, confused.

"Well, are Ronald and Hermione… more than friends? We can never get a straight answer out of her -"

Bile rose up in George's throat as the implication sunk in and he fought the urge to respond with a fervour they would hardly understand, considering the situation.

She was _his_, dammit. Not Ron's.

"That could be because she doesn't know _herself_, Robert. We've talked about this. She's only _fifteen_. _He's_ only fifteen. I doubt very much that either of them knows what's going on between them. Cream or sugar?" she directed the last bit at George and he shook his head.

"We've asked Professor Lupin before, you see, and he didn't have any insight into the goings on with the teenagers, he said. He didn't know either way," Robert continued.

"To be honest, my brother is daft as a fencepost about girls so I doubt very much he knows what he wants or how to get it anyway," George uttered. "But, erm, no, I don't think he fancies Hermione."

"Ah, too bad. I always got the impression she harboured something for him," he accepted a steaming mug from his wife and blew on the vapours.

"Perhaps she's growing out of it as well," Helen commented idly, filling the brief silence.

"This is… a bit odd," George started. "Wildly unconventional, really, and she'll be quite ticked off with me for saying this, I'm sure, but…"

"Yes?" both parents prompted him.

"Hermione and I… we've grown quite close and it's not entirely – well, I'd like to think she likes me as well – this is so absurd – she's going to _kill_ me," he finished with a sigh.

"Oh, my dear!" Helen cried out. "Oh Robert, you've put George in a rather unprecedented position, haven't you? I told you to leave it alone," she grinned at her husband widely.

Robert ignored his wife's words gleefully.

"You fancy my daughter then, do you?" he asked, and George was quite sure the older man was taking particular pleasure in George's predicament.

"I think I'll just get on with the wards and quit digging myself a hole -" he sidestepped, rising from his seat. "You know how Hermione is."

Robert grinned even wider at George's use of the line he had used earlier and both parents laughed but didn't push for more information, letting him set to work around their small brownstone.

* * *

Just when she thought things might be levelling out – her Arithmancy exam had gone spectacularly and all three of them figured they'd done at least decently on the Potions exams – the Astronomy practical had come and near the end… She hardly wanted to recall it. She was still so saddened and enraged and scared. Scared for everyone in the castle. Umbridge had tried to get Hagrid taken off the castle grounds, and in the kerfuffle Professor McGonagall had been hit with four Stunners.

Somehow, Hermione managed to clear her mind and concentrate on the History of Magic exam in front of her. And then –

A startling scream caused the whole Hall to jump and turn, eyes wheeling to spot the cause.

Hermione's heart sunk when she saw Harry on the stone floor, skin pale and sweaty, eyes panicked. That was _never_ good.

* * *

**A/N: WELL NOW.  
**

**Hi, hello, how does the almost-winter find you all? Hopefully happy and well, considering recent events. **

**1) I keep saying this but we're almost done.**

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**3) I feel like I'm grieving the end of this story like it's my own CHILD and Merlin, it's difficult. **

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**xoxo**


	39. Chapter 39

It had been a very whirlwind year, but wasn't every year a wild ride when you were best friends with Harry Potter?

Not only was it one of the major testing years in the wizarding world, but Harry complicated things more by displaying a strengthening bond with Voldemort that had been plaguing him with realistic nightmares he couldn't seem to shake. Hermione knew that when he had told her he had stopped going to see Snape for Occlumency lessons, he hadn't been telling her the truth when he had insisted Snape had told he him had mastered it and didn't need his help learning anymore. She should had pressed harder, should have nagged more, should have gone to McGonagall if necessary to make sure her friend's mind was safe from the tendrils of evil belonging to Tom Riddle, even in sleep.

The end of the History of Magic exam had proved that Harry had indeed not mastered the art of protecting one's mind from external penetration, and that the dreams or visions he was having were turning more violent.

She startled at the scream from behind her in the Great Hall and turned just in time to see Harry's limp body hit the stone and start thrashing in shock.

"I should have told McGonagall he'd stopped going to Occlumency lessons," she fretted to Ron as they left the exam barely a quarter of an hour after Professor Tofty had escorted their friend from the Hall and bade him to rest.

"You couldn't have _made_ him go, Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes.

"I should have _tried_! _You_ should have tried," she continued.

"I'm not going to _force_ him to go and spend and extra few hours with Snape every other day," he scoffed. "He's bloody miserable when he has to go, and I don't blame him, alright? I would be too. But being around him after wasn't making me jump up and down in excitement, if you know what I mean."

"Lovely, Ronald," Hermione berated. "Our friend is having a mental breakdown and all you're concerned about is your own comfort."

"Oi," he commented, mildly hurt, but that was as far as the ginger was willing to take his comeback.

Hermione let a beat of silence pass as they climbed the stairs.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and Ron redirected them around a corner and up the marble staircase.

"Do you reckon he's in the common room or what?" he asked but a moment later he heaved a heavy sigh and pointed at their friend who was barrelling through the crowd around them, down the stairs three at a time. His chest was heaving by the time he reached them, and Hermione was stricken.

"Harry! What happened? Are you alright? Are you ill?" she pressed, aware that other students were milling around them now and that Harry may not be able to speak freely.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked, taking in Harry's heavy breathing and pale face in a moment of concern Hermione wasn't expecting.

"Come with me…"

Harry lead them along the corridor and into the first empty classroom he could find, snapping the door shut behind them. Hermione's stomach was around her throat, constricting, and she was certain she was at the end of her rope.

"Voldemort's got Sirius," was the first thing out of Harry's mouth and she felt her insides drop.

"_What_?"

"How d'you -?"

"Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam."

"But – but where? How?" Hermione resisted the urge to moan out loud. She _knew_ he had been seeing things in his dreams, she _knew_ it but couldn't do anything to stop it. She felt faint. Surely this was a… a ruse or… How could Voldemort have Sirius if Sirius never left Grimmauld Place?

"I dunno how. But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in theses little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven… He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from there… He's torturing him… Says he'll end by killing him…"

Harry was shaking, the words coming out of his mouth laced with worry and nerves and racing adrenaline. He moved to a desk and sunk down onto it.

Silence fell between the three of them, everyone digesting this new development.

"How're we going to get there?" Harry asked.

"G-get there?" Ron questioned, his head snapping up.

"Get to the Department of Mysteries, so we can rescue Sirius!" he stated, peeved.

"But – Harry…" Ron trailed off faintly.

"What? _What_?" he demanded. Hermione realized her mouth was hanging open and she closed it momentarily, chiding herself.

"Harry," she started, "er… how did Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anybody realizing he was there?"

"How do I know?" Harry bellowed, and she grimaced. She should have known that was coming. "The question is how _we're_ going to get in there!"

"Harry, think about this," Hermione pleaded, desperately hoping she count make her point without him yelling too much more. "It's five o'clock in the afternoon… The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers… How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? Harry… They're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world… You think they could just get into a building full of Aurors undetected?"

"I dunno, Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something! Anyway the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been -"

"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione responded, quiet as a mouse next to his hollering. "You've dreamt about the place, that's all."

Which was true.

Harry's eyes blazed and Hermione braced herself for the blowback.

"They're not normal dreams!" he shouted, and took a step closer to her to emphasize his frustration. "How d'you explain Ron's dad then, what was that all about, how come I know what had happened to him?"

"He's got a point," Ron pitched in and Hermione wanted to physically shut his mouth for him.

"But this is just – just so _unlikely_! Harry, how on earth could Voldemort have got a hold of Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place all the time? It doesn't make _sense_."

"Sirius might've cracked and just wanted some fresh air," Ron commented, sounding torn about whether or not he should be helping Harry or helping Hermione make Harry see reason. "He's been desperate to get out of that house for ages -"

"But why," she pressed, "why on earth would Voldemort want to use _Sirius_ to get the weapon, or whatever this thing is?"

"I dunno, there could be loads of reasons! Maybe Sirius is just someone Voldemort doesn't care about seeing hurt –"

"You know what, I've just thought of something," Ron interjected his friends' heated conversation with a quiet thought. "Sirius' brother was a Death Eater, wasn't he? Maybe he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon!"

"Yeah - and that's why Dumbledore's been so keen to keep Sirius locked up all the time!" Harry seized, and Hermione wanted to bash their heads together to knock some sense into them.

"Look, I'm sorry," she stepped in snappishly, "but neither of you are making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there -"

"Hermione, Harry's seen them!" Ron raised his voice slightly to talk over her.

Hermione pursed her lips and tamped down the urge to match his decibel level. That would not help her here, not while she was the only one trying to bring logic and sense into the equation.

"Okay," she leveled, "I've just got to say this…"

"What?" Both of them had her fixed in place with petulant glares.

"You… This isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do… sort of… I mean - you don't think you've got a bit of a - a - _saving people thing_?"

"And what's that supposed to mean, a 'saving people thing'?" Harry glared.

"Well… you…" Hermione felt her heart sink. "I mean… last year, for instance… in the lake… during the Tournament… you shouldn't have… I mean, you didn't need to save that little Delacour girl… you got a bit… carried away…"

Harry's face grew even more stony and Hermione suppressed the urge to grimace.

"... I mean, it was really great of you and everything. Everyone thought it was a wonderful thing to do -"

"That's funny," Harry responded all too calmly, "because I definitely remember Ron saying I'd wasted time _acting the hero_… Is that what you think this is? You reckon I want to act the hero again?

"No, no, no!" she protested. "That's not what I meant at all! I'm trying to say - Voldemort knows you, Harry! He took Ginny down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it's the kind of thing he does, he knows you're the - the sort of person who'd go to Sirius' aid! What if he's just trying to get you into the Department of Myst -?"

"Hermione, it doesn't matter if he's done it to get me there or not - they've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anything left from the Order at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don't go, Sirius is dead!"

"But Harry - what if your dream was - was just that, a dream?"

The sound that Harry made in frustration was loud and jarring, and Hermione stepped back suddenly.

"You don't get it!" he shouted. "I'm not having nightmares, I'm not dreaming! What d'you think all the Occlumency was for, why d'you think Dumbledore wanted me prevented from seeing these things? Because they're REAL, Hermione - Sirius is trapped - I've seen him - Voldemort's got him, and no one else knows, and that means we're the only ones who can save him, and if you don't want to do it, fine, but I'm going, understand? And if I remember rightly, you didn't have a problem with my _saving-people-thing_ when it was you I was saving from the dementors, or when it was your sister I was saving from the basilisk -"

"I never said I had a problem!" Ron retorted when Harry rounded on him and away from Hermione.

"But Harry, you've just said it," she pressed persistently. "Dumbledore wanted you to learn to shut these things out of your mind, if you'd done Occlumency properly, you'd never have seen this -"

Hermione couldn't have possibly foreseen Harry's next explosion.

"IF YOU THINK I'M JUST GOING TO ACT LIKE I HAVEN'T SEEN -"

"Sirius told you there was nothing more important than you learning to close your mind!"

"WELL, I EXPECT HE'D SAY SOMETHING DIFFERENT IF HE KNEW WHAT I'D JUST -"

Hermione startled, jumping when the classroom door suddenly opened, jarring her back to awareness. They were basically having a yelling match about a secret society and their connection to both it and a highly wanted criminal in the middle of Hogwarts, one of the fastest most rabid rumour mills Hermione had ever known.

"Hi," Ginny started slowly as she walked into the classroom followed by Luna. "We recognized Harry's voice - what are you yelling about?"

"Never you mind," Harry snapped. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There's no need to take that tone with me," the small redhead leveled. "I was only wondering whether I could help."

"Well, you can't," he finished combatively.

"You're being rather rude, you know," Luna mused out loud.

Harry cursed and turned his back on the room.

Time slowed down as something piqued Hermione's thought process. A thought came together; she wasn't sure if she should speak up because it hardly seemed like a _good_ idea, just _an_ idea, really…

"Wait. Wait… Harry, they _can_ help."

"I've told you, I saw -"

"Harry, I'm begging you, please!" Hermione grasped at straws. "Please, let's just check that Sirius isn't home before we go charging off to London - if we find out he's not there, then I swear I won't try and stop you, I'll come, I'll do whatever it takes to try and save him -"

"Sirius is being tortured NOW! We haven't got time to waste -" Harry protested without listening.

"But if this is a trick of V-Voldemort's - Harry, we've got to check - we've got to -"

"How?" Harry asked belligerently. "How're we going to check?"

"We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him." Hermione still wasn't sure this plan was going to be a shining moment to look back on, the feeling of dread settling in her bones as she continued. "We'll draw Umbridge away again, but we'll need lookouts, and that's where we can use Ginny and Luna."

"Yeah, we'll do it," Ginny volunteered immediately despite not having much of an idea what was going on.

"When you say 'Sirius', do you mean Stubby Boardman?" Luna interjected curiously.

Harry determinedly ignored her.

"Okay," he reluctantly gave in. "Okay, if you can think of a way of doing this quickly, I'm with you, otherwise I'm going to the Department of Mysteries right now -"

"The Department of Mysteries?" Luna piped up again. "But how are you going to get there?"

Again, no one answered Luna's breezy inquiry.

Very quickly, a plan came together. Luna and Ginny would stake out either end of the corridor in which Umbridge's office door could be found, and they would keep lookout for both her, Filch, and the Inquisitorial Squad members. They would direct other students around the corridor by telling them that a load of Garroting Gas had been released - a previous plan of Fred and George's, to Hermione's horror - while Ron falsely informed Umbridge that Peeves was smashing up the Transfiguration department. Hermione and Harry would break into her office while she was distracted and floo Grimmauld Place to see if Sirius was still safely confined to the Headquarters.

The very moment the plan was finalized and everyone was on board, Harry took off at a sprint to fetch the Invisibility Cloak from the Gryffindor dorms.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Ginny asked as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Harry's had another dream thing - like the one of dad - and he thinks You-Know-Who has Sirius at the Ministry and is torturing him," Ron filled her in quickly, interrupting Hermione as she tried to open her mouth and elaborate.

"He thinks it's about the _weapon_," Hermione glared at Ron before turning to Ginny with a helpless look on her face. "He was about ready to get his damn broom out and _fly_ there by himself."

"Right," Ginny nodded, sighing and knotting her long red hair into a pile on top of her head. "Okay, if anyone has to go to the bathroom, you should probably go now. This is going to be a long day - I can just feel it."

"That's a very good idea, Ginny," Luna commented as Ron snorted.

* * *

**A/N: HI. Hope everyone had a good holiday season and getting back to the usual wasn't too painful.**

**The Christmas Card Extravaganza was delayed because of a personal thing, but if you requested a card, you will still receive one; it'll just be late. **

**We're so close to the end it physically hurts me, but I'm already writing the next chapter. MY POOR HEART. **

**Stick with me, my loves, for we are almost there. **

**Let me know what you think will happen! Do you think I'm sticking with canon, will there be a big difference, will George and Hermione admit their feelings for each other?**

**xoxo**


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